


The Things You Hide

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Greece, M/M, Neighbors, Photographer Harry, Prepare your feels, So much angst, Spy Louis, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has been an MI6 agent for four years. Now he wants out. Unfortunately, his superiors have other ideas. Their solution: a 'mission' in the Greek Islands, one that's more vacation than actual work.<br/>Harry is an avid photographer who shows him around the area. He's open and carefree and everything that Louis wishes he could be.<br/>Along the way they fall in love, and maybe Louis learns a little about love, a little about lies, and a whole lot the meaning of home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things You Hide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [troubleinateacup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubleinateacup/gifts).



> Apparently each successive fic I write just gets longer. This one kind of got away from me, but I loved writing it. It was a lot of work, amidst internet and electrical struggles, but so, so much fun. Please excuse any gaping plot holes. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from Cassadee Pope's "I Guess We're Cool." 'If I've learned one thing, you should never bring any secrets into love, cause the things you hide, they build up inside, and I don't want that for us."

The door slammed open as MI6 Agent Louis Tomlinson stormed into the office.

“I’m out,” he said. “I’m done. No more. I quit.”

The Director glanced up over his glasses, regarding him calmly for a moment before returning his attention to the papers on his desk.

“Sit down, Agent.”

“No,” Louis said. “I will _not_ sit down. I am done. I’m done with all of this.”

“I understand that you’re upset-”

“Upset?” Louis repeated incredulously. “I’m not upset. I’m absolutely disgusted. How could you – you’re monsters, all of you.”

“And what are you?” the Director asked. His voice was calm, almost curious. Louis shook with rage.

“I am getting the fuck out,” he spat. “You can’t make me stay.”

He waited for the Director to speak, to argue as he usually did. The Director was silent. Louis could feel the fire that he had entered with flickering within him, going cold as the Director forced him to wait upon his whim. Louis hated waiting. He hated that the Director knew exactly how to manipulate people – to manipulate _him._

“Sit,” he said at last. Louis, caught off guard, obeyed before he could think otherwise. “You have objections to your last assignment,” the Director said.

“I have objections to this agency acting on insufficient information from untrustworthy sources,” Louis replied. His words were clipped, his voice struggling to remain at a reasonable volume, with mixed success. “I have objections to having critical information withheld, and I have objections to innocent people getting hurt as a result.”

“Mistakes were made, I admit,” the Director said.

“Mistakes?” Louis repeated, nearly yelling.

“Yes, mistakes.” The Director’s eyes flashed. So he was human after all. “It is a regrettable, but unavoidable hazard of this line of work. Every effort is made, but some things slip through the cracks. We admit that. We move on. We try to do better.”

“Not me,” Louis said. “Not anymore.” The Director raised an eyebrow.

“You aren’t going to try to do better?”

“No – yes – stop twisting my words!”

“I apologize.” Louis snorted.

“You’re not sorry.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

Louis started to speak again, but pulled back. He took a deep breath, settling himself as he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, he said. “I won’t do this anymore.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” the Director said. He shuffled through a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. “If you wish to leave, that is of course your right.” Louis waited. A ‘but’ was coming, he was sure of it. There was always a ‘but’.

“There is, however, the small matter of your notice.” Louis blinked.

“My what?”

“Your notice.” The Director pulled out a thick sheaf of paper and flipped through it. “Your contract states that you must give us three weeks’ notice before terminating employment. During that time, you still work for us.” He marked a passage on the paper and handed it to Louis. He recognized it as the contract he’d signed when he’d been hired some four years previously. He skimmed the relevant passage. It said what he claimed all right. He checked the signatures, just to be sure (he didn’t trust the Director as far as he could throw him), but they were in order. Damn him, damn him to hell. Damn them all.

When Louis had finished reading, the Director continued. “Out of consideration for your service and the… unfortunate experience you have so recently undergone, I would be willing to assign a low commitment job.” He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper with “Mission Briefing” printed at the top in big letters. “Elena Goulding, one of our diplomats in Greece, has received several threats recently,” he said. “Could be just talk, however there have been rumours of unusual gang activity, and it seems imprudent to take risks. Things are tenuous enough in that country as it is.”

“Whatever,” Louis said. “So what’s the mission?”

“Oh, just keep an eye on things,” the Director said. “You’ll be joining a long-term operative there – should you choose to accept, of course. She’s the head of the operation; you’ll just be the backup. An extra set of eyes and ears, and hands in the unlikely event it should come to that. I expect you’ll hardly even be working, really. It’s just a precaution. But it does fit nicely with your notice.” He paused and looked up at Louis, a rare hint of a smile crossing his lips. “And I hear Greece is lovely this time of year.”

“Are you ordering me?” Louis’ face was hard.

“Am I forcing you to spend a month barely working in warm, scenic, relaxing Greece?” He shrugged. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“And if I were to _happen_ to change my mind,” Louis said, knowing the answer.

“We would of course be only too happy to welcome you back,” the Director affirmed. “You’re a good operative, Agent. We’re sorry to lose you.”

“So this is a bribe.” It wasn’t a question. The Director said nothing. Louis sighed. “I suppose I must accept, _sir_.” The honorific was bitter on his tongue, and it twisted like an insult.

“Excellent,” the Director said, ignoring Louis’ sour expression. “The case file is on your desk.”

As Louis left the office, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d lost. The Director had called his every move before he’d even known it himself. Louis supposed that was why he had this job, and had held it for so long. He was very good at what he did.

Louis hated him.

As he stalked down the hallway, he swore he wouldn’t be back.

~*~*~

Three days later, Louis opened his eyes in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar city in an unfamiliar country.

Ironically, it was a familiar situation. It felt almost more familiar than his apartment in London ever had.

He sighed and sat up, assessing the room he’d been too tired to even consider last night. The walls were a soft off-white, and the furniture was limited – only the bed, a desk, and a small chest of drawers. He supposed it was meant to feel open, but it just felt empty. Or maybe that was him.

He spent a few minutes inspecting every inch of the room, from the notebooks in the desk drawers to the hangers in the small closet to the one electrical outlet near the door. It didn’t take long. Limited indeed.

As he freshened up in the tiny washroom, splashing freezing water on his face in an attempt to feel at least halfway human, the smell of frying bacon caught his attention. Oh, right. He wasn’t alone in this little white house.

Louis descended the stairs on silent feet, more out of instinct than intention. Gentle music came from the kitchen, where a tall figure with long hair pinned up in a bun was bent over the stove. At last, the cook turned around.

“Hungry?” she said, not appearing the slightest bit surprised at his presence. “I made breakfast.”

“Sure,” Louis said. “Thanks.” They sat in silence at the kitchen table, eating bacon and eggs. Louis appraised her. She looked to be about twice his age, perhaps forty-five, perhaps a little more. She could easily pass for his aunt as the file had suggested. What had it said her name was?

“Lou,” she said suddenly, and Louis jumped.

“Sorry?”

She wasn’t supposed to know his name. They used aliases, always. Rules like that kept everyone safe.

Also, nobody called him that except his sister.

“I’m Lou,” she repeated, and he relaxed back into his chair. “Lou Teasdale.” Her eyes were sharp and disapproving. “You did read the file, right?”

“Right,” he said. “Yeah, I just forgot.” He had read it, and he’d noticed that the name thing would be a pain in the butt.

“Do you need me to go over the other details for you?” she asked, clearly not trusting him at his word. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m William Thompson, 21, visiting my Aunt Lou in Greece for the summer. I attend the University of Birmingham at home, in the classical literature and civilization program.” She didn’t look impressed, so he continued. “You’re my mother’s sister, never married, moved here about two years ago for health reasons – your heart – and not a word of any of that is true. What do you say – do I pass?”

She regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded. “As long as nobody else knows about the last bit.”

“Obviously.” Lou studied him for a moment longer, then stood abruptly.

“Well, that’s sorted then. Help me with the dishes and then you should get to know the city.”

Louis pushed back his chair and started gathering up the plates. “Are you going to show me around?”

“No,” Lou said. “I’ve got things to do. It’s not a very big island; you can go it yourself.”

Louis nodded, only slightly disconcerted. He’d acquainted himself with mission areas before, particularly on solo assignments, but it was always better with someone who could point out the important details, or at least someone who knew the area. He supposed he could hire a guide, but he wasn’t really sure where to start looking. He sighed. A walk would make a good start, at the very least. Maybe it would calm him down, clear his head. God only knew he could use it.

~*~*~

The sun was nearly blinding as Louis stepped out of the house, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“Boró̱ na páro̱ ti̱n eikóna sas ?”

Louis turned towards the voice, struggling to translate. It had been too long since he’d studied Greek; he recognized the inflection as a question but couldn’t place the words. “Pardon?” he started to say, but a click and a bright flash interrupted. He froze, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. When he could see again, his fears were confirmed. Leaning against the fence of the neighbouring house was a tall boy holding a large camera. A camera which, unless he missed his guess, now held an excellently clear image of Louis’ face. As Louis watched, the boy smiled and lifted the camera again.

“No!” Louis said sharply, throwing up a hand to block his face from the lens. Not that it would help now. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “No pictures!”

The boy immediately lowered his camera, his bright smile exchanged for a look of contrition. “I’m sorry,” he said, his English laced with a light accent. “I did not mean to upset you. It was just such a lovely image.”

Louis was taken aback, thrown by the boy’s politeness. “I just don’t like having my picture taken,” he said after a moment. “Especially without my permission.” The boy grimaced.

“I asked in Greek,” he said. “I’m sorry, really, just everyone around here knows I take pictures of everything. They’ve gotten used to it. But I should have waited for your answer. I can delete it, if you like?”

Louis hesitated, then nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Do you want to see it first?” the boy offered. “It really is lovely.”

“Even if you do say so yourself?” Louis said, but he was smiling in spite of himself. He crossed the yard to the boy and leaned on the fence himself. “What have you got?”

The boy handed him the camera, and Louis had to admit the shot was quite good. The framing was dynamic, and the sunlight caught his skin and his hair so he almost seemed to glow. After a moment he handed back the camera.

“You’re right,” he said. “That was a lovely photo.”

“Do you still want me to delete it?”

Louis didn’t answer for a moment. He didn’t want it deleted, exactly; it was a great picture, but he knew it was against policy, and for good reasons. Good sense won out.

“Yeah, delete it,” he said. “Sorry, I just… I don’t feel comfortable with it.” The boy didn’t say a word, just pressed a few buttons and with a whir and a beep the image was erased.

“All done,” the boy said, setting the camera gently on the ground. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“I’m L-” he caught himself “-ou’s nephew, William. Call me Will.” He smiled and held out a hand, but mentally, he was berating himself fiercely. Giving the wrong name was a rookie mistake, and he hadn’t been a rookie in… well, a long time. He blamed it on Lou’s name being too similar. But then, at least that provided a good cover.

“Pleasure,” Harry said, shaking the proffered hand. “What brings you to Aegina?”

“I’m studying classical civilisations in Uni,” Louis answered. “My parents are on vacation right now, so they shipped me off here for the holidays. They thought it would be more interesting and productive than if I were just alone at home.”

“Is it?” Harry asked. Louis shrugged.

“I just got in last night,” he said. “Haven’t really had time to make a proper assessment. All I can really tell you is that my room is very white and Lou makes killer bacon.”

“That’s hardly representative of the island,” Harry laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mirth. “Let alone the country. Well, the bacon might be.”

Louis smiled. “I was about to go on a walk, to get to know the place a little better,” he said. “I’ll be sure to let you know my assessment when I get back.”

“Are you doing that now?” Harry asked. “I could show you around.”

Louis tilted his head slightly as he considered. Harry’s smile was open and friendly, and he would doubtless do a better job familiarizing Louis with the area than he could do on his own. It was exactly what he’d been looking for, so where was the sense in turning him down?

“All right,” he said after a moment. “If you’re sure it’s not a bother.”

“Not at all,” Harry said. “I was about to go on a photo walk anyway.”

Louis’ brow furrowed, just a little. “What’s a photo walk?”

“Pretty much what it sounds like,” Harry said. “I walk around and take pictures of things.”

“Do you go on these photo walks often?”

“Every day I can,” Harry said. His cheeks flushed slightly. “I want to be a professional photographer, so it’s good practice.”

Louis studied him for another moment, then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Show me Aegina through your photographer’s lens.”

Harry laughed. He held out a hand and Louis took it almost without thinking. A moment later he was following Harry into the road.

~*~*~

Harry was an excellent tour guide, as it turned out. His photography habits meant he knew all sorts of tiny details, and while they might be uninteresting to some, Louis was fascinated. He loved hearing Harry talk about the cats that lived in the alley behind the fish market, or the way the echoes played off some of the buildings, so that if you stood in just the right spot you could hear conversations happening a block away.

He brought Louis through old, rundown areas and fancier locales, showing him parks, beaches, and some of his favourite shops. All along their journey people stopped to talk to him, and he seemed to know every single one of them by name.

And he took pictures of everything. Children playing in the streets, dogs chasing a flock of sparrows, a tattered banner hanging from a post, he seemed to find beauty in everything, and when he pointed his camera at it, Louis could see it too. Somehow he took the mundane, ordinary, everyday things that were everywhere and made them look like works of art. Louis was no expert, but even he could tell that Harry had talent.

It was late in the afternoon, nearly evening, by the time Louis returned to the house. He waved to Harry from the porch, and Harry responded with a blinding smile, as seemed to be his habit. Louis could feel a similar smile spreading across his face as he turned and pushed open the door.

“Will? Is that you?”

And he was back. “For some values of me,” Louis called back. He kicked off his shoes and headed upstairs, following her voice.

“You know,” Lou said as he walked into her office. “If I hadn’t been expressly told to be nice to you, I would be berating you for breaking character.”

“I’m not breaking character,” Louis argued. “I’m just playing a character who happens to break the fourth wall.” Lou shook her head.

“They must really like you,” she said. Louis grimaced.

“It’s not mutual.”

Lou glanced up for her papers, turning to look at him for the first time. She smiled. “I see you’ve met Harry.

“I did,” Louis said, surprised. “But how did you know?”

Lou inclined her head towards a mirror that hung on the wall. When Louis checked his reflection, he realised the bright red flower Harry had found beside the road and tucked into his hair was still there. Blushing, he reached up to remove it.

“Don’t take it out on my account,” Lou said. “I think it looks well on you.”

“I don’t – I wasn’t – Harry did it,” Louis stammered. Wearing flowers didn’t exactly fit with being professional. Not that this was a normal case in any way, shape, or form, but still. It wasn’t the impression he wanted to give.

“I know it was,” Lou said, chuckling. “He does that.” Louis glanced at her.

“So he’s always like that?” he asked. “So…”

“Friendly?” Lou offered. “Charming? Vibrant? Yes.”

“I was going to go for quirky,” Louis said. “But your words fit too.”

“Harry is a lot of things,” Lou said. “Most of them good. Maybe all of them. He brings me homemade cookies every few weeks, and helps me with the garden.”

“Wow,” Louis said. “He sounds like quite a character.”

“He’s something, right enough,” Lou agreed. “He gets on with everyone. The neighbours, the other islanders… he’s like everyone’s kid brother, or older brother – some kind of brother. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like him.”

“Does he live alone in that big house?” Louis asked.

“I think his mother owns it,” Lou said. “But she doesn’t stay often. She works for the government, so she spends most of her time in Athens. You’d have to ask him for more details.”

“That’s all right,” Louis said quickly. “I was just wondering.” They were silent for a moment. “What’s for dinner?” he asked eventually.

“Well,” Lou said, “I really don’t feel like cooking today, so how does takeout Chinese sound?” Louis loved Chinese, it was one of his favourites, but he frowned, suddenly suspicious.

“They gave you a file on me, didn’t they?”

Surprise flashed across Lou’s face, and her gaze faltered for just a moment. It was back in an instant.

“Why would they do that?” she asked, and she was a good actor – her timing and intonation was perfect. But he’d caught her off guard, and she’d given herself away.

“You know exactly why,” Louis said, “because you’ve read the file on it.” His eyes dared her to deny it. She considered him for a moment, then smiled wryly.

“You’re good,” she said. “I can see why they’re so desperate to keep you. Yes, they gave me a file on you.”

“What do you know?” Louis demanded. His voice was calm, if hard, but inside he was seething.

“The file was very brief,” Lou said. “It just said that a recent mission had gone badly wrong, and you wanted to leave the service. Not a lot of details – you know how it is. Everything’s classified, need-to-know only.”

“Except when they’re trying to coerce someone into doing something they won’t,” Louis said through gritted teeth. “Then anything’s fair game.”

“There was only similarly limited information about you, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Lou said. “I have no idea who you are – or were. No family, no history, no names. Just a list of suggestions and advice. Likes, dislikes.” She paused. “Your preferences, basically.”

Louis’ lip curled bitterly. “Isn’t it logical of them to attempt to retain my loyalty by violating my privacy?” He snorted derisively. “That’s so like them. They think they can get away with anything.”

“They really want you to stay,” Lou said with a shrug. “They wanted this mission to be the best experience possible for you. If I know what you do and don’t like, I’m better equipped to provide that.”

“Well here’s another note for your file,” Louis told her. “One of the things I don’t like is having my personal information handed out to complete strangers. And it doesn’t matter what they want. I’m not going back. The only reason I’m here at all is that they didn’t give me a choice.”

“Ah yes, the notice clause.” Lou nodded. “It’s a clever trick – underhanded, but very savvy.”

“It’s mean,” Louis said, not caring that it sounded childish. Lou didn’t deny it.

“So should we have Chinese or not?” she asked after a long minute. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. If you don’t want Chinese I’ll order something else, but you’ll have to decide quickly.”

“I – no,” Louis sighed. “Chinese is fine.” He wouldn’t play their little game, but he supposed he might as well reap the benefits.

“Excellent,” Lou said. “Any requests?”

“I expect that was in the file too,” Louis said. She regarded him a moment, then nodded.

“Pork dumplings and fried rice it is.”

She headed downstairs, leaving him alone in the office.

~*~*~

Louis slipped outside early the next morning. It was still dark, but he didn’t want to have to speak to Lou, or even see her if he could help it. He still couldn’t help resenting her, though on a conscious level he understood that she was only doing her job. MI6 was the real enemy. But he was powerless against them.

He tried hard not to think about any of this as he slipped out into the cool morning air. It didn’t work, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice call out a greeting. He spun.

“Harry!” he said, his heart pumping rapidly. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, looking it. “I didn’t mean to. I was just-”

“It’s fine,” Louis interrupted. “I just didn’t expect anyone to be up this early.”

“I was going to watch the sunrise from the beach,” Harry explained. “The weather is perfect for it.”

“Watch or photograph?” Louis asked, and Harry laughed.

“You caught me,” he said.

“Not really,” Louis said. “I could see your camera. Bulky thing, isn’t it?”

“It takes good pictures,” Harry said. “It’s worth the weight.” He paused. “Do you want to come?” Louis blinked, surprised at the offer. He considered it for a moment. Harry shifted. “Or were you going somewhere?” he asked. “If you were up at this hour-”

“No,” Louis interrupted him. “No, yes, I’d love to come, if it’s not inconvenient.”

The nervousness disappeared from Harry’s face, replaced by the grin Louis was beginning to grow quite familiar with.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it were,” Harry said. “You’re welcome to join me. I’m used to doing these things alone, but it’s more fun with company.”

Louis smiled, the tightness in his chest loosening just a little. Harry was so friendly and open and happy and he just made everything feel better. It wasn’t, Louis knew; everything was the same. But Harry seemed so positive and optimistic that it was nearly impossible to be sad around him.

“We’ll have to walk fast,” Harry said, glancing at his watch. “But we should make it.”

“Race you?” Louis offered, and immediately berated himself for sounding like a six year old. To his relief, Harry just chuckled.

“No thanks,” he said. “It’s not that late.”

“Scared you’d lose?” Louis asked, not sure why he was keeping it up. Maybe he just wanted to see Harry run. And maybe that wasn’t the sort of thing he should be thinking about.

“Not scared,” Harry answered. “Dead certain.”

Louis was surprised. He knew he was fast, he’d been trained to be, but Harry had no idea. “How’s that?” he asked. “You’ve got way longer legs than me.” Longer was an understatement. In the cutoff jean shorts Harry was wearing, they seemed to go on for days.

“I’m not the most coordinated of people,” Harry explained with a self-deprecating laugh, pulling Louis’ eyes back up to his. “I’d probably fall over and slow us down even more.” He moved into the street before Louis could say anything. “Come on,” he called.

Louis quickly fell into step beside Harry, matching his pace easily even though he had to take three strides for every two of Harry’s. They walked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the tap of their shoes on the pavement. The air was warm, and Louis could see stars here and there, though the sky was beginning to lighten to grey.

Harry was all business when they arrived at the beach. He snapped a few practice shots of some seagulls along the shoreline, then steadied his camera on a flat rock. Minutes later, the edge of the sun peeked over the horizon, and Harry began clicking. Louis watched, entranced. The first rays of light turned the sky a brilliant red, shot through with glorious yellows and purples. And yet, despite the natural beauty of the scene, Louis found himself watching Harry, noting the way his eyes seemed simultaneously dreamy and focused. A few wisps of hair fell loose across his forehead, shifting slightly when he breathed.

Louis had worked with MI6 photographers before, but that was always about getting the layout, or the target, or the suspect. It was cold and calculating and businesslike, nothing like what Harry was doing. Harry was creating _art_ , and watching him do it – if Louis had a camera in that moment, he wouldn’t be taking pictures of the sunrise. He would be taking pictures of Harry.

Harry’s focus was intent, and he seemed to almost stop breathing as he devoted all of his attention to capturing the shots. After a few minutes and what must have been dozens if not hundreds of pictures, Harry stood. He scanned the horizon for a moment before setting out across the sand, heading for a rocky outcropping. Louis followed at his heels, not sure what was going on but not daring to voice a question and risk breaking the spell that hung over the beach.

Harry took several shots of the rocks that jutted out into the sea, standing starkly against the beauty of the sunrise. After a moment he pulled back and made a face.

“Not right, not right,” he muttered. “Too dead… not enough…” He turned suddenly to Louis. “Go stand on that rock,” he said. “The big flat one, right next to the red, funny shaped one.”

Louis took a step back, uncertain. “I don’t…” he started. Harry’s face fell.

“Right,” he said. “You don’t like having pictures of yourself.” He turned back to the sea, lifting the camera. He adjusted his position three times before lowering it again without taking a shot. He turned back to Louis.

“Please?” he said. “The landscape is too dull, too lifeless.”

Harry’s eyes were pleading, and Louis looked away. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say.

“You’ll just be a silhouette, I swear,” Harry offered desperately. “Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. It’s just a black shape against the sky.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” Louis said weakly. “I’m no model.”

“I’ll tell you,” Harry said. “I’ll do all the work. Please?”

Louis caved. He was pretty sure anyone would have; those eyes and that face could probably stop wars. Maybe he’d test it some time.

He walked towards the rocks, locating the one Harry had described. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Just look out at the sunset,” Harry called. Louis turned obediently, shutting his eyes against the light. “Perfect,” he heard Harry say.

Harry instructed him through a series of poses on the rocks, then on the beach itself. When the colours finally began to fade from the sky, Harry lowered his camera and smiled.

“I think these will be great,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You did all the hard work,” Louis pointed out. “If they look good, that’s your doing.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, though,” Harry said. He paused for a moment, tapping his chin with a long finger. “Can I thank you with breakfast?”

Louis looked up at him in surprise. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “It was my pleasure. And you showed me around yesterday. This can be my thanks for that.”

“But I want to,” Harry said. “Come on, I know a fantastic little creperie not far from here. It’s to die for. Please?”

At that moment, Louis body betrayed him and his stomach rumbled noisily. Harry looked triumphant, and Louis could only laugh.

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve sold me.”

Harry’s grin seemed to stretch across his whole face, and his eyes shone. “You won’t regret it,” he promised.

~*~*~

Harry was right. Louis didn’t regret it at all. The food really was to die for; Louis had never tasted anything so good in his life. And the company wasn’t half bad either.

Harry seemed to be good friends with the owner, as per Lou’s suggestion that he had the entire island in the palm of his hand. They chatted amicably for several minutes, and when the elderly man heard that Louis was a newcomer, he offered recommendations.

“This one is my specialty,” he said, pointing to a crepe that promised ‘a special blend of meats, cheeses, and vegetables like you’ve never tasted before.’ “But my personal favourite is the Red and White – tomato and egg with parmesan cheese. Young Harry always orders the same thing.”

“It’s weird, but it’s good,” Harry said, smiling unapologetically. Louis quirked an eyebrow in a wordless question, but Harry just shook his head. “You’ll see when it comes,” he promised. “Now order. I’m starved.”

Louis eventually decided on a crepe with chicken and cucumber in a creamy sauce, a choice Harry lauded. When the elderly man had disappeared into the back to prepare the food, Louis turned back to Harry.

“How long do you have to live here, to be friends with literally everyone?”

Harry laughed. “Not quite everyone,” he said.

“That’s not what Lou says.”

Harry bashfully looked down at the table, his hair falling to block his face. “We moved here when I was nine,” he said. “So I’ve had nearly twelve years to get to know people.”

“Where did you live before?” Louis asked, curious.

“Thessaloniki,” Harry said. Correctly interpreting Louis’ baffled expression, he explained. “That’s the second biggest city in Greece. My mother worked for a law firm there, but when she split with my dad she wanted to go somewhere new. Start over. So she took me and my sister Gems – Gemma – and we came here.”

“What’s your sister like?”

Harry laughed. “Like me, but better,” he said. “She graduated from university a couple years back. She’s actually interning in England now, with a political journal – Worldly.”

“Never heard of it, I’m afraid,” Louis said. “Sounds neat, though.”

“She really enjoys it.” Harry sat up in his chair and Louis realized that the tables were about to turn. He’d been asking all the questions – force of habit, really – but the delving into personal details was about to bite him in the arse.

“What about you?” Harry asked. “What’s your family like?” Louis’ heart twisted. This was the part where he was supposed to stick to his cover story. He was supposed to lie, and pretend, and give Harry nothing, to seem open and honest while being anything but.

“Not a lot to tell,” he said. “Mum’s been married three times. My stepdads have been great, but I think Lou disapproves. They don’t get on.” That was mostly true enough, if misleading. “Either that or she’s jealous.”

Harry laughed. “I can’t imagine that.”

“Well, it’s mutual, whatever it is,” Louis said. “Mum doesn’t approve of her job.” Also true, albeit not directly related to Lou. His mother had tried to talk him into quitting plenty of times. He’d never listened. She’d been right anyway. Mothers always were.

“What is Lou’s job, anyway?” Harry asked, and Louis winced inwardly. He really should have seen that one coming.

“Not sure,” he stalled. “Keeps her pretty busy, though.” Harry still seemed to be waiting for an answer. “I think she works for some sort of security company,” he hedged at last. “Mostly managerial.”

“Why would your mom disapprove of that?” Harry asked. Good point.

“Well, I think she used to be involved more directly,” he backtracked. Lying with the truth was so much harder than sticking to the story. “And thought it was too dangerous or something. I’m not really sure.”

Thankfully, their food arrived before Harry could ask anything else, and Louis was able to divert the conversation; first to teasing Harry for his bizarre crepe fillings of strawberries, cheese, and green olives; then to the culinary arts. Harry admitted to being a talented chef, especially of baked goods, and at Louis insistence agreed to cook for him sometime.

When the meal was finished (Louis insisted on paying for his part), Harry asked about Louis’ plans for the day. Louis shrugged.

“I’m on vacation,” he said. “I don’t have plans. I’ll probably just wander around being a tourist.” Harry looked at him for a moment, his head tilted just slightly to the side. Louis laughed. “Are you fishing for an invitation to come along?”

“Well, I mean, not as such,” Harry stammered. “You’re just – fun to hang out with. And you’re new, so you see everything through fresh eyes. You provide a new perspective, which, like, is important.”

Louis gave him a friendly chuck on the shoulder. “You’re welcome to come along,” he said. “Or drag me along, since it’s not like I know where I’m going.”

Harry thought for a moment, then looked back at Louis, his eyes alight. “I do,” he said.

~*~*~

Over the next few days they settled into a routine of sorts. Louis would get up early (though they didn’t repeat the before sunrise excursion) and meet Harry in front of their houses, and Harry would take him wherever he pleased. They wandered through parks and explored forests. They visited historical landmarks and buildings. Some days they stayed in the city proper, other days they took Harry’s car out into the rural areas. Louis loved the hustle and bustle of a living city, loved the sizzle and pep and vibrancy of it, but although he couldn’t imagine ever living in the country, he had to admit that the peace and quiet of the calm, empty openness was beautiful.

Sometimes they stayed out late into the evening, returning well after dark. Other times Louis would share a short, awkward dinner with Lou during which neither of them spoke more than a few words, and then retreat to his room. Louis would have been glad to sacrifice these in favour of more time with Harry, but there were appearances to keep up.

One night, about a week and a half into the routine, he was returning late. He opened the front door quietly, expecting Lou to have already gone to bed. He’d made it clear that there was no need for her to wait up. He silently removed his shoes and headed upstairs to his room. When he flipped on the light, he jumped. Lou sat on his bed, her hands folded in her lap.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once he’d recovered his composure. His voice was hard and flat.

Lou sighed. “I’m not your enemy,” she said. “I know you resent me, but I’m not here to drag you back into service.”

Louis said nothing. He didn’t have to.

“I don’t know what happened,” she continued, “but I respect your choice. If you want to leave, I won’t try to stop you. They don’t have the authority to order that of me. I’m just supposed to make your last assignment as pleasant as possible.”

“Do they know that?”

“They do,” Lou said. “You’re not the first agent they’ve sent here on their notice period, you know.”

“And how does that usually work for them?” Louis couldn’t keep the bitter sarcasm out of his voice, though in all fairness he didn’t really try.

Lou shrugged. “Some stay on. Some don’t. I don’t really know; it’s not my place. I suppose it must be somewhat effective, if they keep doing it.”

Louis’ mouth twitched, just a little. Lou gave him a tired smile.

“I know you’re mad,” she said. “You have every right to be. I know you don’t trust me right now. But I just want you to know that I’m on your side, not theirs.” She paused, meeting his eyes. “I’d like to be your friend, if you’d let me.”

Louis said nothing, trying not to let his face reveal his surprise. He couldn’t tell how successful he was, but after a few moments Lou sighed and stood.

“Think about it,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder as she passed him. “I’ve been in your position. If you want to talk… about anything… you know where to find me.”

She went into her room and shut the door. Louis stood there for a long time, thinking. At last, he shook his head and went to brush his teeth.

~*~*~

The next day, Harry drove them out to a small farm – apparently he was friends with the owner. Louis was still finding it hard to wrap his head around the idea of knowing literally everyone, even if it was a small island.

The owner greeted them when Harry pulled up, giving both of them samples of some of his products. Everything was delicious, and Harry and Louis both told him so. After a few minutes of conversation, he wished them luck on their excursion and headed inside. Harry turned back to Louis.

“Ready?”

“For anything.”

The farm largely grew olives, as was common in the area, but they had a small vegetable garden and a small herd of sheep, which were out grazing in the fields. Harry snapped several pictures, including a hilarious set of a sheep falling over, as they wandered over to the fenced-in garden. They let themselves in, shutting the gate behind them, and Harry busied himself setting up another shot as Louis walked up and down the rows.

After a few minutes, Louis still hadn’t heard the distinctive click of Harry’s camera. He glanced over, and found Harry looking back at him. After a moment, he spoke.

“Would you be willing to be in some of my shots again today?” he asked. He rushed ahead to explain before Louis could say anything. “Just like your hands or your feet, not your whole body. It’s called parts modelling? ‘Cause, like, just vegetables are a little boring all by themselves, and it’s hard for me to use my own hands and operate the camera. But you don’t have to-”

“Calm down, Harry,” Louis said, laughing. “Give a guy a minute to breathe.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “I – sorry.”

Louis considered for a moment. It seemed like a reasonable enough request. And it wasn’t like pictures of his hands and feet would compromise, well, anything. He glanced over at Harry, who seemed to be trying very hard to pay attention to a not-particularly-interesting tomato plant. Louis smiled. Who was he kidding? He’d known what his answer would be since Harry had asked.

“All right,” he said. “I’m in. What do I have to do?”

Harry beamed at him, and Louis struggled to suppress the warm feeling that welled in his stomach at the sight. He walked over to where Harry knelt next to a patch of carrots. He dropped to his knees beside him.

“What do I-” he started, pausing when he felt Harry’s hands wrap around his. Harry arranged his hands carefully around a large tomato, still hanging from its stem. When he was satisfied, he pulled back, reaching for the camera.

“Don’t move,” he warned, and began snapping away.

They repeated the process with a few more vegetables, but even Louis’ hands couldn’t make them all that interesting, so Louis started getting creative. He grabbed a handful of carrots that Harry had pulled up and set them between his fingers like brass knuckles (except, carrots). Harry took one look and burst out laughing. When he pulled himself together, he took dozens of shots of the carrot knuckles, and then some radish and beet knuckles in multiple poses. After a final few shots of Louis’ feet in the rich soil of the garden, they headed out to the olive orchards.

There, Harry took a bunch of shots of Louis standing behind the trees, just an arm or a leg sticking out. Then he had Louis climb a sturdy-looking tree and took several shots of his feet dangling from the branches. When those were done, Harry told Louis to come down and look over the shots with him. From his perch above Harry, Louis shook his head.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, smirking. “You come up here.”

“Me?” Harry said. “But I – Will, I’d probably fall out of the tree.”

“You’ll be fine,” Louis said. “I’m only seven feet up. Barely higher than you.”

“But I-“

“If I promise to catch you if you fall will you come up?”

Harry looked sceptical. “How are you going to catch me from up in the tree?”

Louis shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

That startled a laugh out of Harry, and one wheedling look later Harry was attempting to climb the tree. He was laughably bad, and Louis wound up having to talk him through every single hand- and foothold. At last, Harry reached the branch Louis sat on. Louis scooted over a few inches and Harry sat pressed tightly between him and the trunk of the tree.

He pulled up the shots on his camera and showed them to Louis, pointing out a particularly good angle here or a detail there. Louis was entranced by all of them. They were art, lovingly crafted by Harry’s long, thin fingers and his brilliantly green eyes.

“Do you want copies of any?” Harry asked, and Louis wanted them all, wanted them framed and cherished like they deserved. He glanced up at Harry, suddenly taking in their forced proximity. Their hips were pressed together, Louis’ arm tight against Harry’s back, and Louis could feel his heart speeding up.

He looked away when Harry turned to face him. “Whichever ones you think are best,” he said, carefully keeping his voice level. “I think they’re all amazing.”

He couldn’t quite see Harry out of the corner of his eye, but he could picture the faint blush growing in his cheeks. He always got all shy and embarrassed when he was praised, even though it was well deserved.

With a smooth motion, Louis dropped from the tree, landing catlike in a crouch on the grass. He glanced up to see Harry regarding him with something between amusement and annoyance, though it tended much further towards amusement.

“What?” he asked. Harry gestured at the tree.

“How exactly am I supposed to get down from here?”

~*~*~

Louis joined Lou for dinner that night. They ate in silence for several minutes, Lou barely looking up from her food. Louis still wasn’t sure he trusted her, but he found himself liking her in spite of himself. He studied her thoughtfully over a forkful of spaghetti. At last, he spoke.

“Harry took us out to a farm today,” he said. Lou looked up and smiled at him.

“Sounds like fun,” she said. “What did you do there?” Louis shrugged.

“Same as always, more or less,” he said. “I managed to force him to climb a tree, though he had a heck of a time getting down.” Lou laughed at that. She had a nice laugh.

“Coordinationally challenged,” she said. “That’s our Harry.”

“He wouldn’t climb down on his own,” Louis said. “So we had to borrow a ladder from the man who owned the farm. Fortunately, he was-”

“Let me guess,” Lou cut in. “A friend of Harry’s. Like everyone else.”

“Yep,” Louis said. “He keeps trying to deny the ‘friends-with-everyone’ label, but it just seems to get more and more real.”

“Have you seen him with some of the children around here yet?” she asked. “He’s absolutely wonderful with them.”

“You mentioned,” Louis said. “Everybody’s brother, right?”

“Exactly,” Lou said. She smiled. “What kind of brother is he to you?”

Louis choked on his food. He coughed hard, his eyes watering.

“I barely know what it’s like to have a brother,” he said after he’d recovered. Lou nodded, and he looked back down at his food. He shoved another forkful of pasta into his mouth. “And anyway, I don’t want him as my brother,” he muttered under his breath. A strangled sound made him look up to see that it was Lou’s turn to choke on her food.

“So it’s like that, is it?”

“No!” he said quickly, his face colouring. Then a moment later, in a quieter voice, “Okay, maybe.”

Lou propped her chin on her hand, studying him. “I think you could be good together,” she said.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Not gonna happen,” he said.

“But I-”

“Lou,” he said sharply.

She raised her hands in surrender. “Message received,” she said. They ate in silence for a moment. Louis focused intently on his food, but he could feel his cheeks flaming.

“There’s an event coming up next week that I might need your help with,” Lou said at last. Louis looked up.

“What’s that?”

“Diplomat Elena Goulding is giving a speech in Athens,” Lou explained. “We’ve received several reports that an attack might take place. I know I’m supposed to leave you alone, but I’d really appreciate it if-”

“Stuff that,” Louis said, all business in an instant. “What’s the situation?”

“We don’t know, really,” Lou said. “That’s the frustrating thing. We hardly know anything. These low-level consortiums are so disorganized, it makes them unpredictable; and their methods are so low tech that it’s hard to gather much intelligence beyond hearsay.”

“What would I be doing?” Louis asked.

“We’ve put extra security on, of course,” Lou said, “but it’s still not as much as I’d like. I think you’d be best placed in the crowd itself. Most of the other guards would stick out like sore thumbs, but you could pass unnoticed. You might catch something the cameras won’t.”

Louis considered it. It sounded reasonable enough. If there was no attack, not much would happen. If there was, innocent people would probably be hurt. He might be able to prevent that, or at least mitigate it. He nodded slowly. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Lou breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

~*~*~

“What on Earth is that?” Louis asked when he stepped outside the next morning.

Harry looked down at the oddly shaped contraption that hung around his neck. Instead of the black camera that he usually used, today he wore a grey, boxy device that Louis couldn’t figure out. He wasn’t even entirely sure it was a camera.

“It’s, um, a polaroid camera?” he said. Louis raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking me or telling me,” he deadpanned. Harry’s mouth twitched into a half smile.

“It’s a polaroid camera,” he repeated. “It’s more old-fashioned – uses real film – well, sort of.”

“I know what a polaroid is, Harry,” Louis said, descending the steps and walking over to get a closer look. “I just didn’t know it looked like that. Ugly thing, innit?”

Harry looked appalled. “How can you say that?” he said, cradling the camera to his chest. Louis blinked.

“Am I going to hurt its feelings?”

“Will,” Harry said, his voice exasperated. “Be nice.”

“To you or your funny looking camera?”

“ _Will!_ ”

“Okay, okay,” Louis held up his hands in surrender. “Your grey boxy thing is lovely and I’m sure it takes excellent pictures. What is it doing here?”

Harry looked down at the camera again, fiddling with it. “Well, it’s good to be comfortable with different media,” he said. “Some things are better captured on film than digitally, and there are different things you can do with them…” He glanced up. “And, well, I was hoping – thinking – that is, what I mean to say-”

“Harry?” Louis said. Harry stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Just spit it out.”

Louis meant it lightly, but Harry looked even more nervous. “Well, you know polaroids are one time things,” he said. “No uploading or even redeveloping. Just the one print.”

Louis bit his tongue to keep from chiding him again, but he wished Harry would get to the point.

“So,” Harry said, as if he’d read Louis’ mind. “That is, I was thinking – l was thinking that maybe I could take pictures of you? You’re just, you’re such a good model,” he hurried to explain. “The pictures with you have been so good, and you’re so fun to work with, and – I really would like to take some proper pictures. You could keep them, if you want, or – I don’t know, just – please?”

Louis considered it. His first instinct was to say no. It was absolutely against protocol, and besides, pictures could be taken of the pictures, or the prints stolen. But as Louis studied the other boy, who looked so very young as he fidgeted with his camera, his eyes carefully downcast, he couldn’t help trusting him. Perhaps it was foolish, as there was little to nothing to base it on. But he was so tired of that sort of thinking, of the constant paranoia and rule-following and second guessing himself, never letting himself trust anyone. He wanted to trust someone – he wanted to trust _Harry._

“Okay,” he said, just as Harry said, “You really don’t have to-“

He stopped, looking up eagerly, and Louis couldn’t help smiling at the excitement in his eyes.

“You mean it?” Harry said. “I mean, not that I don’t believe you, I just want to make sure you’re sure. And I want you to say yes, but not if it’s not what you want, so-”

“Harry,” Louis interrupted him again. Harry stopped, looking sheepish. “I’m sure.”

It was entirely possible that Harry actually clapped his hands with joy.

“Okay,” he said. “I was thinking of just going to the river today, nothing too elaborate. There’s some structures and some more forested area, so we can get some variety.” As he spoke, Harry started walking backward towards the road. “And then we can-”

“Slow down!” Louis said, laughing. “And for pity’s sake, walk forwards. You’ll trip, and hurt yourself – or worse, the camera.”

Harry clutched the camera to his chest, cradling it. “Never,” he said. “Not my baby.”

Louis had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. He settled for quickening his pace, overtaking Harry in seconds. “Hurry up,” he called back. Harry made an indignant noise.

“Do you want me to hurry up or slow down?” he asked. “Because I can’t do both.”

“You can’t?” Louis said, widening his eyes in feigned surprise. “Amateur.”

Harry rolled his eyes and followed after him.

~*~*~

“I think we’re good,” Harry said, pulling the last print from the camera’s front. He shook it lightly, peering at the grey square which would soon contain Louis hanging upside down from a tree.

“Excellent,” Louis said, flipping himself right side up and dropping to the ground. “Let’s see ‘em.”

Harry sat down at a nearby picnic table, scooting over to make room for Louis beside him. Louis slid in next to him, his hip pressed against Harry’s. He forced himself to focus on the pictures which Harry was spreading across the table.

“So this one turned out well,” Louis said, pointing to one that had been taken just before he’d unexpectedly sneezed. His expression was slightly vacant, and his arm was blurry as he’d brought it up to his face. Harry laughed.

“They can’t all be winners,” he said. “But this one’s nice.” He indicated one of Louis sitting on a large rock, his feet dangling just off the ground. The sun caught his eyes as he turned towards the camera, and a smile was just beginning to take form on his face. It was a lovely shot.

“And I _love_ this one,” Harry said, holding up a picture of Louis lying among scattered leaves. The angle of his limbs made it look a bit like he was dead, but he also seemed to give off a sense of power that seemed completely contradictory.

“The leaves sure itched,” Louis commented, making a face.

Harry’s lips twitched. “Poor baby.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. He wasn’t offended, far from it – he was pleased. The Harry he’d first met would never have said that to him. Nevertheless, he could not go unpunished…

Louis leaned down and, scooping up a handful of leaves, he stuffed them down the front of Harry’s shirt.

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed, tugging at the fabric. “Will!”

Louis leaned back, laughing, and Harry was laughing too as he pulled out bits of plant matter and tossed them at Louis, who ducked. He tossed another handful of leaves towards Harry, and then covered his head as Harry retaliated with a handful of grass.

The moment felt perfect. Louis wanted to save it forever, and he suddenly thought he might understand Harry’s obsession with photography. He wanted to remember every detail, from the way Harry’s eyes glowed with laughter to the way his own cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

And then Harry leaned forward and kissed him, and Louis’ brain exploded.

The sensations that coursed through him took his breath away. Harry’s lips were soft and pliant on his. He tasted like fresh fruit and he smelled like salt water and green things and Louis drank it in. He wanted this forever, wanted Harry forever, wanted –

And then reality came crashing down on him. He _couldn’t_. He was here for a month at most, and it was half gone already. And Harry – Harry didn’t know him, couldn’t know him.

Louis lifted his hands to Harry’s chest, pushing slightly. Harry’s mouth left his and Louis breathed, somewhere between relieved and on the verge of tears. Harry turned and picked up another picture.

“Now in this one…” Harry’s mouth kept moving, but Louis couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. After a moment Harry stopped talking. “Will?” he asked.

Louis’ chest clenched. He knew he needed the reminder – that this was supposed to be work, that Harry didn’t know who he was – but it hurt like hell. He pushed himself to his feet.

“I have to go,” he said.

“So soon?” Harry looked surprised. “All right. See you tomorrow?”

“I – yeah,” Louis managed. “Tomorrow.”

~*~*~

It was all Louis could do to put one foot in front of the other to make his back to the house. He fumbled with the door, leaning against a wall as he kicked off his shoes. His whole body felt leaden. Lou greeted him from the kitchen table, frowning when she saw his gait.

“Are you drunk?” she asked. Louis glanced up at her.

“I wish.”

“Are you hurt?” Lou asked, half-rising. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Louis said. “Everything’s fine.” Except me, he thought. Lou looked confused.

“Then what on Earth-”

“Harry kissed me.”

Lou blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought that was a good thing.”

“It – I-“ Louis sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t be with him, Lou. I’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

“He knows you’re not here for long,” Lou pointed out. “That doesn’t seem to matter to him.”

“He doesn’t even know my real name!”

Lou nodded. “That’s the real issue, isn’t it,” she said. “You feel like he doesn’t know you, and you can’t tell him, and so how can he be in love with you when he only knows Will?” Louis stared at her.

“I – yeah, more or less.” He paused. “You talk about it like you’ve been there.”

“I have,” Lou said. “About eight years ago now.” Louis waited for her to continue. She didn’t.

“What did you do?” he asked at last.

There was a distant look in Lou’s eyes when she answered. “Nothing. I did nothing.” Louis’ shoulders slumped, but when Lou turned her gaze on him a moment later, he found himself straightening again. “It’s the thing I regret the most,” she told him, “that I didn’t take that chance. That I let him get away, without even trying.”

Louis blinked in surprise. They were both silent for a moment. At last, Lou stood.

“You okay?” she asked. Louis shrugged wordlessly. She nodded and moved past him, heading for the stairs. At the last second she paused, ruffling his hair gently. “Good luck,” she said. Louis would have told her that he didn’t believe in luck, but she was gone.

~*~*~

The next day, Louis forced himself out of bed at the usual hour. No rest for the righteous and all that, regardless of how much the aforementioned righteous might want to just curl up in a ball under the blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist. Also Louis was a pretty piss-poor showman for righteousness. But who was counting.

Louis left the house a few minutes late, due mostly to not wanting to do anything, which slowed up the works. Harry was waiting for him as usual, and greeted him with the usual blinding smile.

“Morning Will!”

“Morning Harry,” Louis replied in a slightly more subdued tone. Harry’s smile flickered.

“Are you okay?”

Louis hesitated for a moment, then sighed inwardly and plastered on a bright smile of his own. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said. “Didn’t sleep well, is all. What’s on the agenda for today?”

Harry’s smile returned to full brightness.

“Well, I thought we could…”

And just like that, everything was back to normal. Louis had been dreading having to tell Harry that they couldn’t be together, which would have been made harder by the fact that he wanted to so desperately. He’d been worried that things would be awkward between them. Neither was the case, and he knew he ought to have been relieved, but somehow the complete normalcy was worse.

Because things weren’t normal, even if Harry was pretending they were. Even if he was completely ignoring what had happened, even if he honestly thought they could just continue on as before – it didn’t work like that. That wasn’t – it didn’t work like that.

But as Harry pretended like nothing had happened, Louis pretended right back at him, unable to think what else to do, and unsure if he would have the strength to do it if he could think of it. The ease with which the facade came hurt too; it was almost instinctive to pretend, like a fake him was easier to be than the real one. Sometimes Louis wondered if he even knew who he really was, without the lies and the characters and the false backstories.

Another reason why he was done with this bullshit. Two more weeks, not even quite two, and then he was out of here. His notice would be up, and he could go back home and find a normal job and live a normal life, one where he never had to worry about trusting people or forgetting the cover story or, y’know, dying. He could forget Harry, find some other nice guy to settle down with, someone he would never have to lie to.

But as he pictured that future, that normal life… the face on the nameless guy was Harry’s. Louis shook his head, forcing the image to shift, repainting his eyes blue and his hair short and blond. He held that image, but it felt wrong. It felt forced, and it was, but it was more than that. Louis shook his head again, attempting to refocus on the present. He didn’t want to think about that anymore.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked from beside him. He’d been talking about something, Louis was almost sure, but he couldn’t for the life of him recall a single word. He forced a smile anyway.

“Nah,” he said. “Just a bug trying to fly in my ear. I think it’s gone now. What were you saying?”

~*~*~

The next day Louis woke early, unable to sleep. After tossing and turning for a while he rose and slipped silently out of the house. He didn’t want to see Harry. Or rather, he wanted to see him, but he couldn’t bear it; not now, not while everything hurt. Not when Harry was everything he wanted and everything he couldn’t have.

Without Harry to guide him, Louis had no idea where to go. He let his feet lead him wherever they pleased, until he found himself standing atop a hill overlooking the beach. He smiled, remembering the sunrise photoshoot, but it was pained. That had been the first time he’d found himself instinctively trusting Harry, even though he had no real reason to. That had been the first time Harry had called him beautiful. And it had all led to this lovely mess.

At last he turned sharply and entered the first café he saw. He handed over enough money for a croissant and a hot chocolate, then sat down at a corner table, staring out at the street and the people passing by. There were dozens of them, perhaps hundreds, passing by in twos and threes and bigger groups. Hardly anyone was alone. But he was.

Louis lingered in the shop, picking at his food and thinking. Everything was a mess, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what he wanted. He knew what he should do – exactly what Harry was doing; nothing. But every second of yesterday had hurt like a knife in the gut. Louis wasn’t sure he could do that again.

The second option was to sever ties altogether. Stop seeing him, stop talking to him, anything. Louis stomach clenched at the thought of it. Harry would be crushed. He couldn’t do that to him.

At last, Louis rose and left the café, no closer to a solution but unable to justify taking up the little table any longer. He headed slowly back to the house, not really wanting to explore any further. It wasn’t the same without Harry.

When he reached the street, Louis ducked into the alley behind the house, planning to enter through the back so he wouldn’t see Harry. The plan backfired.

“Will?”

Louis’ head jerked at the sound of the voice, meeting green eyes before he even realized what was happening. Harry stood the middle of his backyard, camera in hand. As Louis watched, frozen, he began to make his way towards Louis.

“You ditched me this morning,” Harry said as he reached the fence that separated them. He set his camera on a fence post. “What have you been up to?” His smile was as warm and open as ever, as though Louis hadn’t stood him up just a few hours ago. That was Harry, he supposed.

Louis opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His throat was bone dry. He shrugged instead, unable to look away from Harry.

“I asked your aunt,” Harry continued after a moment. “But she didn’t know where you were either.” Was he really so oblivious to – everything – Louis was feeling? To the fact that Louis hadn’t said a word yet, and that he was staring at Harry in a way he was sure was creepy, but he couldn’t seem to stop?

“Do you still want to hang out today?” Harry asked. “Or do you have other plans?”

Louis’ foot moved forward of its own accord, as though Harry gave off a magnetic pull, drawing him in. He let it, and took one step, then another, until he stood right up against the fence, just inches from Harry. His heart raced and his skin sang.

“Will?” Harry said.

“Harry,” was all Louis could say in response. He unlatched the gate, and Harry took an uncertain step back.

“What’s up, Will?” Louis met Harry’s eyes, and realized that he looked genuinely nervous. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t what he wanted. Louis tried to smile at him, to tell him it was okay. It didn’t work. Harry took another step backwards and stopped, his back pressed to a large tree. Louis stood just inches away from him. His breath was fast and harsh.

“Will, are you-”

Louis closed the distance between them, his leg slotting neatly between Harry’s like they had been made to fit together. His hands gathered fistfuls of Harry’s t-shirt, twisting the material slightly. He had to tilt his head up slightly to see Harry’s face, but God, what a face. His eyes were wide, making their vibrant colour even more gorgeous, and his breath came in little pants. This close, Louis could see every line and every crease in his full lips. Louis wanted to kiss him with every fibre of his being.

So he did.

Harry’s mouth tasted even better than the first time – citrus mixed with mint, and was that a hint of cinnamon? His lips were warm and plush and he smelled like sunshine and how had Louis ever managed to pull away from him?

For his part, Harry responded eagerly to Louis’ touch. His hands reached up, carding gently through Louis’ hair. Louis’ breath hitched, and he clutched tighter at Harry’s shirt. The hands kept moving, tracing patterns along his jawline, and Louis shivered so hard he broke the kiss. Harry’s mouth sought his again, but Louis tucked his head, pressing his face to Harry’s shirt as he tried to regulate his breathing. Harry switched to dropping gentle kisses onto his hair, hands resting on Louis’ back.

“That was amazing,” Louis whispered when he could finally speak. His face was still buried in Harry’s shirt, which smelled deliciously like him. Harry said nothing in reply, just ran a thumb along Louis’ shoulder blade. Louis looked up after a moment. Harry’s expression was bland, yet somehow still open. It was like the opposite of a resting bitch face – a resting angel face, Louis thought. And then had to fight down a blush, because seriously, who said things like that? Well, he hadn’t really said it; he’d just thought it, but still.

“It was – good for you, yeah?” Louis said, because while he was pretty sure of the answer, he wanted confirmation so as to not make a complete arse of himself. Harry’s mouth turned up just a little bit more at the corners.

“It was – good,” he agreed. Louis pulled back just a little.

“Are you mocking me?” Harry shrugged.

“Do you deserve to be mocked?”

Louis considered that. “Maybe.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed, and Louis’ heart skipped a beat at the sight. Harry’s throat was long and smooth and deliciously bronzed, and Louis couldn’t resist touching it gently. Harry leaned into the touch, his eyes dancing as he smiled at Louis in a way that made his knees feel like they were about to give out.

He stepped back abruptly, disentangling himself from Harry’s arms.

“Will,” Harry said, reaching after him, but Louis turned and walked away. He collapsed on a stone bench at the edge of the yard, burying his face in his hands. After a few moments he felt Harry sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered through his hands. “I just – I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Harry said, and Louis bit his lip to keep from crying. There was only silence for a moment. Harry didn’t move, didn’t touch him, and Louis couldn’t decide whether he was relieved or disappointed. After a moment, Harry sighed. “What are you so afraid of, Will?” he asked. His voice was pleading, small, making him seem for once as young as he truly was.

Louis raised his head, turning to look at Harry. His breath caught at the proximity. He wanted to reach out, to touch him. Instead he forced his hands to grip the underside of the bench and looked away, focusing on the horizon.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and Harry started beside him.

“Leaving?” he said. “But-”

“Not today,” Louis cut him off. “Not tomorrow. But soon. Harry, I don’t live here. My life is somewhere else.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “I know that,” he said at last. “And yes, I’ll hate it when you leave, but… does it make you happy?”

Louis’ chest ached. “Yes,” he said.

“Then isn’t it worth it?”

“But…” Louis bit his lip. He couldn’t _tell_ him, that was the problem.

“But what?”

“What if… what if I’m not what you expect?”

Harry laughed, that low throaty chuckle that made Louis’ heart beat just a little bit faster. “Will, I think I have a pretty good idea of what to expect.”

The sentence broke Louis’ heart. Every time Harry said that name – he couldn’t. He started to turn away, to leave, but before he could even stand Harry caught his face in both hands, and then he was kissing him and it was all Louis wanted, all he could think about, it was so good so perfect and everything he’d never even known to dream of. Louis pressed himself closer to Harry wanting more, more, always more. If every inch of his skin was touching Harry’s it would still never be enough.

This time Harry was the one to pull away, leaving Louis breathless. “See?” he breathed, but all Louis could see was Harry, his eyes dark, his lips swollen, his hair messy and with Louis’ fingers still buried in it.

“See what?” he murmured. Harry’s brow furrowed for a second and then he chuckled.

“I think it’s worth it,” he said, and oh right, that. “I think that even if you have to leave tomorrow, it’s worth it to feel that… that electricity. That joy.” He pulled back, just a bit, and Louis instinctively wished he hadn’t. “But what do you think?” he asked. “Is it worth it for you?”

He should say no. He knew he should say no. Harry had no idea who he was. He would be leaving in just a few weeks. And getting involved while on the job went against every rule in the book and quite a few that weren’t in the book. It was a terrible idea. There was only one possible logical answer.

“Yes,” he breathed.

~*~*~

Lou was sitting in the living room watching television when Louis walked in a few hours later. She turned to look at him, her face slightly creased with concern. “Where have you-” she began, then stopped, her practiced eyes noting the colour in his cheeks and the spring in his step. A smile slowly spread across her face. “Well I’ll be.”

“You probably will,” Louis said, too happy to make sense. Lou walked into the front hall as he removed his shoes. She studied him for a moment.

“There’s a light in your eyes I haven’t seen the whole time you’ve been here,” she said. “What’s gotten into you? No wait, don’t answer that. I know. Harry.” Louis’ grin widened, just a little and his eyebrows twitched upwards. Lou laughed. “I didn’t mean like that,” she said. “Or – was it like that?”

“No, Lou,” he answered with a laugh of his own. “Bloody hell, do I seem like that kind of guy to you?”

Lou shrugged. “I don’t judge,” she said. “As long as you’re happy.” She touched his cheek, her smile almost as big as his. “And you are happy.”

“I – yeah.” Louis couldn’t very well argue with that one. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

Lou tilted her head to one side. “So are you going to tell me about it?”

Louis smiled, his mind flashing back to those first kisses on the bench, and then the ones after those, and the ones after those. They’d finally stopped only when their lips were almost too sore to continue. Harry had asked if he wanted to go out as usual for the rest of the afternoon, but Louis had slowly shaken his head.

“Can we just… stay here?” he’d asked. “You’ve never shown me your house – your room before.”

“It’s not much,” Harry had said. Louis had smiled.

“I don’t care,” he’d said. “I just want to see it.”

And it hadn’t been much, just an ordinary house, but Louis could feel Harry in every room of it. He could feel him in the flowers that bloomed from a dozen surfaces, in the delicate curtains that adorned the windows, in the bowls of fruit that rested on several tables throughout the house. And then there were the pictures of Harry as a child, which Louis had exclaimed over as Harry blushed beside him.

Lou was waiting expectantly, a knowing grin spreading across her face. Louis looked away, trying to keep the heat from rising in his cheeks. “We just… hung out,” he said. “At his house.” He paused. “Kissed a lot.” For pity’s sake, he wasn’t sixteen! He was behaving like an infatuated teenager. That just wasn’t him!

“What changed your mind?” Lou asked, and Louis refocused on her. He shrugged.

“I realized you were right,” he said. “And he was right. To feel that way… even if it’s only for a few days, even if it all goes wrong, it’s worth it.”

Lou’s smile grew almost blinding and she took the two steps between them, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “I’m so, so happy for you.”

Louis squirmed. “Okay _mum_ ,” he said, but it came out fond. Of course, it was hard to sound like anything else when his heart was practically singing.

Lou laughed and gave him a gentle swat on the shoulder. “Behave yourself,” she teased. “Or I’ll send you to bed without supper.”

“I’m terrified,” he told her. “Genuinely frightened.”

“You should be,” she retorted. She flopped back onto the couch and returned her attention to the television. “Now get me some popcorn or you won’t get dessert.”

Louis laughed. “Yes boss.”

~*~*~

The next day was… it was good. A little weird, but good. Harry greeted him with a smile, which was normal, and a kiss, which was not. It was quick, but left Louis feeling just a little frazzled around the edges.

“Hey,” Harry said. Louis swallowed hard.

“Hi.”

Harry reached for Louis’ hand, fiddling slightly with his fingers. “How are you?”

“I’m – good. I’m good.” He felt like an idiot. If it had been anyone else acting like this he would have teased them mercilessly for their lack of eloquence. Now he was the one stammering and speechless. “What’s the itinerary for today?” he asked, hoping to redirect Harry’s attention. It didn’t work.

“Whatever,” Harry said, not looking away from him. “Nothing special planned.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.” Harry shrugged, still smiling. “Just walking. Maybe the park. I didn’t even bring my camera.”

Louis had noticed the absence of the bulky black device that had accompanied them almost everywhere over the past weeks. He fiddled with a button on Harry’s shirt.

“So what are we going to do?” he asked.

“Whatever we want,” Harry replied. The hand that wasn’t holding Louis’ cupped his cheek gently, Harry’s thumb tracing along Louis’ jawbone. “I just want to spend it with you.”

Louis stared at him for a minute, then reached up on impulse, rising up on his toes to kiss Harry. This kiss lasted slightly longer than the first, just long enough for Louis to taste the mint toothpaste on Harry’s breath. Warmth bloomed in his chest and he smiled against Harry’s lips.

“I can’t imagine a better way to spend the day,” he said when he pulled away.

They walked down the street, their fingers linked in a way that made Louis’ stomach flip over. It was just so – unfamiliar. He hadn’t done this with anyone in longer than he cared to remember.

He looked away from their intertwined hands, his eyes ghosting down Harry’s long legs. Harry wore shorts, despite an unusual chill that had persuaded Louis to throw on a knit jumper.

“Aren’t you cold?” he couldn’t help asking. Harry shrugged.

“A little,” he said. “But it’ll warm up soon enough. Look! A chaffinch!”

Harry’s enthusiasm at seeing such a minor, common thing made Louis smile (Most things about Harry made him smile). He allowed Harry to drag him over to look at the bird, and by the time they reached the park he found himself talked into buying a loaf of old bread. They ambled down the path, tearing off small pieces and tossing them to the ground.

“Catch!” Louis said, tossing a piece of bread at Harry. Harry opened his mouth, but the piece missed, catching in his hair instead. A moment later a sparrow swooped down, snatching it and darting away. Louis gaped. “You’re friends with the animals too?”

Harry laughed. “Jealous?”

Louis felt his ears turn pink, but when Harry leaned towards him he met him halfway. His eyes fluttered shut as their lips touched, gently at first, then stronger. Heat burned through him, starting in his chest and spreading through his entire body. He pulled away, panting slightly.

Harry’s cheeks were flushed but his eyes shone. Louis’ back felt damp, and he turned away, pulling off his jumper. His shirt rode up slightly, the cool air refreshing on his skin. From behind him he heard a soft gasp. He glanced back to see Harry staring at him in surprise.

“What happened to your back?” Harry asked, crossing the space between them. His fingers were gentle on Louis’ skin, tracing the dozens of small white lines that marked it. Louis remembered getting those scars. The cuts hadn’t been particularly severe, but they’d been weeks healing, and significantly inconvenient in the interim.

Louis pulled down his shirt before Harry could see the other marks that peppered his skin. Each one told a story, usually about a mistake – sometimes his, sometimes someone else’s. He had more than his fair share of scars, but he would have paid a great deal to have them all be physical. The physical ones hurt less than the other kinds.

“I fell out a window,” Louis said, and that much was true at least, if misrepresentative. He forced humour into his voice, smiling as he invented. “It was at a uni party a couple years ago. Don’t remember much myself, but I’m told I tried to pull a James Bond when the cops showed up, diving out a window.” His mouth went dry as the words left his lips, just a little too close to the truth.

Harry just laughed. “That sounds like you.”

Louis smiled weakly. He had no idea.

“You’re the first person to notice them,” Louis said. “I guess I don’t have people staring at my back very often.”

“You should,” Harry murmured, his hands sliding to rest on Louis’ hips. Louis moved back automatically, slotting perfectly against Harry’s chest. “You have a great back.”

He spun Louis around, Louis’ face already tilting up in anticipation of Harry’s mouth on his. He wasn’t disappointed, Harry’s lips as eager as his, though for different reasons. Louis kissed Harry and everything else faded away. He forgot, which was what he most desperately wanted. For a moment, nothing else mattered – there was nothing else. He wasn’t Agent Will Thompson, spy; he was just Louis Tomlinson, human being, in love.

He broke away, gasping for breath. He had to calm down, had to be rational, had to…

Harry’s lips dropped to Louis’ neck, tracing his skin with gentle kisses that made Louis feel like he was made of jelly.

“So gorgeous,” Harry murmured against Louis’ skin. “So perfect.”

Louis was so fucking gone for him. Abandoning any attempts at professionalism, he dragged Harry’s mouth back to his, biting down on his bottom lip. His fingers twisted in Harry’s hair, wound tightly enough that it had to be uncomfortable, but Harry only pulled him closer.

A loud wolf whistle startled them apart, both glancing toward the sound to see a redheaded boy standing about twenty meters away, grinning at them.

“Go get him, Harry!” the boy called, and Harry ducked his head into Louis’ shoulder, and Louis could feel the heat of his cheeks through his shirt.

“Shut up, Ed,” Harry called back, but with no venom at all. The boy just grinned wider and sauntered over.

“Ed Sheeran,” he said, sticking out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Louis shook it.

“L-likewise.” He stopped himself just short, his mind coming back down to Earth. Not Louis, he repeated to himself. Not Louis. “I’m Will,” he said aloud to Ed. “My aunt is Harry’s neighbour, and I’m staying with her for a few weeks.”

“You two certainly looked neighbourly,” Ed commented. Harry disentangled himself from Louis and gave Ed a light shove.

“Stop it,” Harry said, his complaint half-hearted. “You’re mean.” He pouted, and Louis found himself quite distracted by the shape of Harry’s full bottom lip.

Ed laughed and pulled Harry into a big hug. “You know I love you, man,” he said. “Congrats.” He glanced over, looking Louis up and down, and then nodded. “Good choice.”

Now it was Louis’ turn to flush. “I’m more than just a pretty face and a fantastic pair of legs, you know,” he said, and immediately began berating himself for not just saying something normal, like, “Thank you.”

Fortunately, Ed had a sense of humour. “No,” he said, laughing. “You’ve got a magnificent arse as well. I know what you meant,” he continued when Louis started to open his mouth. “I’m sure you’re a fine, upstanding fellow as well; heart of gold, wouldn’t hurt a fly, and all that.” Louis tried not to grimace, and said nothing. “I just don’t know you enough to be able to confirm anything but the arse.”

“All right,” Harry said. “Enough fun at my expense.”

“But we’ve only just started!” Ed said, eyes comically wide. Louis laughed. He had a feeling he was going to like Ed. He only hoped it could be mutual. He knew he didn’t quite fit Ed’s description.

~*~*~

The day was drawing to a close when they wandered back to their respective houses, hands linked and swinging between them. They paused at the curbside.

“See you tomorrow,” Louis said, giving Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze as he smiled up at him.

“See you,” Harry agreed. They stared at each other for a moment, neither one wanting to make the first move, but neither wanting to leave without it.

Louis gave in first. Making a disgruntled noise he reached up and pulled Harry’s face down to his. Harry laughed into his mouth, but the laughter died in his throat when Louis changed the angle – just a bit, but Harry’s eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched. His fingers scrabbled at Louis’ back, slipping over his shirt.

When Louis felt as though his lungs might burst, he pulled away. He opened his eyes slowly. Harry looked half-dizzy, swaying slightly as he stood, and clinging to Louis as though he might fall over if he let go.

“You’re a really good kisser,” Harry said dazedly.

Louis laughed. “High praise indeed.”

Harry swatted at him. “Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

As Louis had intended, Harry responded by kissing him again. He would have been satisfied to stay there forever, just kissing and laughing, but eventually Harry reluctantly peeled himself away from Louis’ body.

“Good night,” he said.

Louis waved. “Night.”

Harry turned to leave, then paused.

“I almost forgot,” he said, turning back around. “I won’t be able to hang out this Wednesday.”

Louis fought to keep his eyebrows from shooting up in surprise. “Why’s that?” he asked. It was perfect. Harry being busy the day Louis was supposed to be working meant he wouldn’t even have to come up with an excuse of his own.

“Well – my mum set it up, actually,” Harry said. “She works for the government, and – there’s to be some speeches that day.” An icy feeling settled in Louis’ chest as he began to sense where this might be headed. “Long story short,” Harry said, “she got me a gig, photographing them!”

Louis’ stomach turned over. Harry was going to be at the speeches? When there might be an attack? That – no, that couldn’t happen. He couldn’t – it just couldn’t happen. But there was nothing, nothing at all that Louis could do to stop it. He simply couldn’t _tell_ him, because there would be too many questions, and he wouldn’t be able to answer them, and then – then it would all fall apart.

Louis saw Harry looking at him expectantly, and forced himself smile. “That’s great!” he said around gritted teeth. He swallowed, trying to loosen his jaw. “Congratulations!”

“I’m really excited,” Harry said, a genuine smile lighting his face. Louis tried to smile back, but the cold chill spreading through his bones made it difficult. “You don’t mind?” Harry asked. Louis made himself chuckle, hoping it sounded more genuine than it felt.

“How could I mind?” he said, because it was the only thing he could say. “This is a great opportunity.” Please don’t take it, please don’t take it. “I’ll miss you, of course, your wonderful company and tour guiding skills, but I’ll see you Thursday, right?”

“Right,” Harry said, laughing. Louis hoped it was true.

Harry brushed a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek and another one to his lips, then headed for his house. Louis stood, watching him go. He remained at the edge of the road for several long minutes after Harry had disappeared into the house. At last, he turned and went inside.

~*~*~

Louis rose early the day of the speeches. He’d returned to the house with Harry shortly before five the previous day, so Harry could head over to Athens. He and Lou had followed later that evening, checking into a hotel in the city.

When they’d said goodbye, Louis hadn’t wanted to let go. Harry had laughed, teasing him for getting so emotional over a two day separation. Louis had pretended to laughed along and kissed him again.

In the dawn light, Louis dressed carefully in a dark grey suit and a blue and green striped tie. He stood for several minutes in front of the mirror, painstakingly combing his hair. He looked for all the world like any minor politician.

Differentiating him from these politicians was the gun concealed beneath his jacket. And if that wasn’t different enough, sheathed throwing knives were strapped to both his calves, and several smoke capsules were stashed in a hidden pocket.

Louis was still on edge.

He was worried that something would happen. He was worried that nothing at all would happen, and this awful tension and uncertainty would continue, with no end in sight. He was worried that they would jump at something that was actually nothing. He was worried that innocent people would get hurt.

He was worried that _Harry_ would get hurt.

He tried to push thoughts of that to the back of his mind. He had a job to do, and worrying about Harry wasn’t it. Besides, he would be well out of the way – his position was in the balcony. He might be in the safest place in the room, if anything happened.

At that moment, Lou emerged from her room, pulling his mind away from his ruminations. She wore a suit of her own, well-cut; her hair in a neat updo. She gave him a warm smile, which Louis did his best to return.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest,” he answered. “Let’s go.”

Lou drove them down as Louis sat in the passenger seat, his fingers tapping out a drumbeat on his thigh. As they approached the Hellenic Parliament Building, Lou reached over, stilling his restless motion.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, her voice reassuring. Louis wasn’t reassured – there was absolutely no way to know that – but he gave her a small smile anyway.

The halls of the Hellenic Parliament Building were full of well-dressed people – fusty old men in suits, eager youngsters carrying coffee or papers, elegant women in high-heeled shoes. Louis wondered if one of them was Harry’s mother, but no one stood out. He shook his head, and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Lou gave him a quick tour of the major locations. He’d studied maps of the layout the previous night, but it was always different seeing in person. They visited where he would be stationed, in the main room watching the speech; where she would be, in a back room watching the cameras; the stage and backstage; and the rooms where the speakers would wait their turn to speak. Louis absorbed it all, setting it firmly in his memory.

At last, the two agents went their separate ways. The main room was already crowded when Louis walked inside, but he had no trouble making his way to the left side of the room, about halfway back. He scanned the crowd. No one seemed dangerous, but then, one could never be certain. At least bag searches meant that any weapons brought in would have to be fairly small.

His eyes moved upwards to the balcony. He scanned the faces of dozens of attendees until he picked out Harry, about a third of the way along. A colourful headscarf made him easier to pick out, and the smile on his face was as wide as ever as he surveyed the crowd. Louis looked away momentarily as his gut clenched, but his eyes moved back almost automatically. He stiffened as he saw Harry was looking in his direction, but Harry’s gaze moved on a moment later.

Indeed, Louis wondered if Harry would have recognized him even if he had seen him. The formal suit was very different from the light, casual clothes he’d always worn with Harry. Even his hair was different, carefully combed back instead of just loosely swept to the side. Everything about him was crisper.

He returned to scanning the crowd. On edge as he was, everyone seemed suspicious. At the same time, no one did, not really. He made note of anyone who seemed unusual, whether because they stood out or because they were utterly unremarkable, but he had no idea who might actually be a threat.

The lights dimmed momentarily and a voice over the loudspeaker announced that the first speaker would begin momentarily. At that, the mass of people began to move with purpose, the seats filling quickly. Louis chose to remain standing, so he could react more quickly if anything happened.

A minute later, the lights dimmed again, leaving the room only faintly illuminated. The first speaker was announced and walked onto the stage. Louis tuned her out. He wasn’t interested, and it wasn’t his job to be. His job was to watch for suspicious activity among the crowd. He scanned it again. Nothing.

The waiting was always the worst part, having to be constantly on guard as nothing happened, sometimes for hours. When something happened it was usually a major something, but sometimes it didn’t. Either way, the constant tension was one reason Louis was glad MI6’s medical plan paid for a massage therapist.

Louis glanced up at the balcony again, searching for Harry. He wasn’t where Louis had last seen him, but after looking a little further, he thought he could just make out Harry’s silhouette at the far end of the room. A moment later the shadow leaned forward, catching just enough light from the spotlights on the balcony to reveal it to be a middle aged woman. Not Harry, then. He had to be one of the other unidentifiable black shapes.

“Excuse me? You dropped something.”

Before Louis could react he felt something small and hard being pressed into his hand. He frowned, confused, as he turned to see a small boy weaving away through the crowd. He hadn’t dropped anything, certainly not a – he glanced at the object in his hand. A stick? Really?

He suddenly thought to check his pockets, but everything that should have been there was. So why – a rustling sound drew his attention back to the stick. Wrapped around one end was a small slip of wrinkled paper. Glancing around the room he carefully unwound it. The light was dim, but he could just make out the words, written in a rough hand.

 **We have your neighbour,** the note read. **You have one hour to turn yourself in or he dies.** An address Louis didn’t recognize was scrawled underneath.

The blood drained from Louis’ face, and he felt himself stagger. A hand on his arm steadied him, someone asked if he was all right but he couldn’t focus, could barely hear over the ringing in his ears.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past them. And then again, switching to his limited Greek, “Excuse me!” He had no idea what volume he was speaking at, but people moved aside, letting him through. He reached the hallway and broke for the security office.

Half a dozen guards went for their guns when Louis burst into the small room, but Lou quickly waved them down. Louis couldn’t be bothered to translate her sharp command, but the men who didn’t turn back to their monitors were quickly cowed by a withering look.

She turned back to Louis. “What’s going on?”

Louis couldn’t speak. He was winded from the sprint down the hall, but even if he hadn’t been he still wasn’t sure he could have formed words. He handed her the paper. Lou read it silently, her eyes widening.

“Where did you get this?” she asked. When Louis didn’t answer she looked sharply at him, but after a moment her face softened. With another sharp order to the men, she led Louis out of the room and a little ways down the hall. She opened the door to what appeared to be a small broom closet and pulled him inside.

“Breathe,” she told him, her voice steady and calm. “It’s going to be okay, but I need you to calm down, okay?” Her hands rested on his shoulders and he shut his eyes and focused on that as he breathed. The white fog in his mind began to recede, and the tightness in his chest loosened enough for him to speak.

“Some kid came up to me in the main hall and handed me the note,” he managed after a few moments. “I didn’t get a good look at him.” He opened his eyes, looking up at Lou. “I have to go – I can’t let them hurt him.”

“It could be a trick,” she warned. “They might not have him at all.”

“I can’t – I don’t-” Louis swallowed, hard. “I have to be sure,” he said. Lou’s eyes were dark with concern.

“It could be an attempt to draw off our personnel,” she said. “We’re spread thinner than I’d like as it is. I can’t send anyone with you.”

“I know,” Louis said. “I’m not asking you to. Just give me a car.” Lou considered that for a moment, then nodded. She pulled a set of keys from her pocket, but didn’t hand them over right away.

“Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“Always,” Louis said.

“I’ll call the police and have them send men to the address,” Lou promised. “But I don’t know how fast they’ll be able to get there. Stall as best you can.”

“Yes, okay, fine,” Louis said. “Please, Lou-”

She laughed, though her face was tense, and handed him the keys. He seized them gratefully and was sprinting for the outside doors a moment later. He glanced back at her as he rounded the corner. She stood in the doorway of the closet watching him, her face tired and lined. She looked old, like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. He’d never thought of her as old before.

A moment later she was gone, and he was racing down another hallway. He shook thoughts of her from his mind. He didn’t have time for that. He ran.

~*~*~

Louis had never before been so grateful for the invention of GPS. Instead of wasting precious minutes searching a map for the address on the note, he simply typed it in and drove. It was possible he dropped below the speed limit a few times on his way, but not particularly likely. When he got to within two blocks he slowed, parking haphazardly in a small alley. He climbed out of the car, shutting the door as quietly as he could manage. He tossed the keys into a wheel, a trick he’d learned to keep them handy but not in his pockets, and headed out.

His clothing was less than ideal for going unnoticed, he realized, but no one was in sight on the street. He scanned the road, the windows, the roofs, but saw no one. Either these guys were really good, or they hadn’t even bothered to put up guards. Both options seemed unlikely.

The address indicated in the note was a derelict, one story building. He approached it slowly but casually. Still, there was no one in sight. He slipped between two buildings, circling to view his target from the back. A high window just below the roof caught his attention, and after another careful sweep of the area failed to reveal anyone, he approached it on silent feet.

The window was a few feet above his head, and he cursed not for the first time the genetics that had made him short. He supposed it was useful on occasion, to pass below people’s notice – literally – but more often than not it just seemed to make things more difficult. He sighed and flexed his hands, judging the distance.

He got as close to the wall as he could, and reaching up his fingertips just gripped the window frame. It felt sturdy enough, and so, whispering a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening, he pulled himself up to peer in the window.

The rough material of the wall gave him some purchase, at least, but his muscles screamed as he fought to hold himself up high enough to see. The window was filthy, and the room within poorly lit, but after a moment he managed to take in the scene.

Harry sat in the middle of the room, tied to a chair. A blindfold covered his eyes, and with a start Louis realized it was his headscarf. Bruises marked his arms and legs, and he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. He looked awful, but Louis was so grateful he was alive that his arms nearly gave out.

He lowered himself back to the ground as silently as he could manage, then leaned back against the wall. He steadied his breathing, his mind racing. He’d seen three gangsters through the window. The men weren’t strategically placed, but at least two held guns. Not good odds.

But Harry was in there, and that meant that odds or no, Louis was going in there too. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then walked around to the front door. He drew his gun – no sense taking undue risks – and pushed open the door.

Both guns were trained on him in an instant.

“Well, well, so you showed after all,” the skinniest of the three men said. “We weren’t sure you would.” A thick accent coloured a voice that was more sneer than speech, and so slimy that it made Louis want to wash his hands with extra strength soap. He was the only one without a gun, but from the way the other two looked at him, he was in charge. Probably didn’t want to dirty his hands, then.

“I did,” Louis said. His own voice was cold, all business. “Now you hold up your end of the bargain. Let him go.”

“Put down the gun and we’ll chat,” the skinny man said.

“Not a chance,” Louis said immediately. “The instant I set down my gun you have all the power. Let him go, and then we can talk.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I do not,” Louis said. “I’ve dealt with more of your kind than I care to remember, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that you never keep a deal if you think you can get away with it. Untie him, let him walk out of here, and then I’ll put down the gun.”

The leader studied him for a few seconds, then said a few sharp words in Greek to the other men. They quickly set to work untying Harry’s bonds. Each second ticked by slowly. Louis’ hand ached as he clenched the gun. Finally, they shoved Harry to his feet. He stumbled forwards, clumsy as ever, fumbling with the blindfold that still blocked his sight.

“Get out of here, Harry,” Louis said. Harry’s fingers paused, then pulled away the cloth.

“Will?” he said. His face was a picture of shock and confusion but this wasn’t the time – for anything.

“Get out of here,” Louis repeated.

“But I – how-”

“Now!”

Harry jumped, but he moved obediently to the door. He paused on the threshold. “Are you sure-”

“I’ll be fine,” Louis lied. He had no idea what was going to happen to him. Harry hesitated a moment longer, then seemed to accept it. When the door clicked shut behind him a moment later, all three men turned their full attention to Louis.

“All right, Englishman,” the leader said. “Your turn.”

Louis slowly set his gun on the ground. He stood, ignoring the two guns pointed in his direction in favour of meeting the leader’s eyes. “Now what?” he asked, trying to make his tone one of casual disinterest rather than fear. The leader smiled, revealing a mouth full of crooked, pointy teeth.

“Now?” he said. “You will tell us everything we want to know.” He walked closer to Louis, each footfall echoing in the empty room. “And then we will sell you back to your people for as much as we can get. You are a much richer prize than that foolish boy photographer. How kind of you to trade yourself for him.”

“British Intelligence doesn’t negotiate with terrorists,” Louis said. He ignored the second part of the statement. He knew it was true, and that it was foolish. He also knew he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“I hope for your sake that is not entirely true,” the man said. He smiled again, close enough to Louis that he could smell the man’s breath, which was about as nice as his teeth.

Louis shrugged. “Believe what you like. But would you really choose to sacrifice such a potentially valuable resource? Money’s not the only thing out there, you know.”

The man frowned. “What are you saying?”

What he was saying was anything that would buy him a little more time. The police might arrive in five minutes or in twenty. If he was still here, he had reinforcements. If he was moved, he was entirely on his own.

“I’m saying,” Louis said, “that the only reason I am in your lovely country is because I quit the service. The big bosses back home are trying to persuade me to stay on with them.” He shrugged. “It’s not working. I have no particular loyalty to them. I am, however, well-trained in all manner of useful skill sets. I’m sure you’d have no trouble finding use for me.”

“Are you saying…” The man seemed perplexed. “Are you offering to join us?”

“Perhaps,” Louis said. “If you make it worth my while.”

He looked thoughtful, like he was considering it. Louis shifted his weight. He could probably keep this stall up for a few more minutes, but if the police didn’t arrive soon…

There was a sudden thud from the doorway. All three gangsters turned towards the noise, and Louis saw his chance. He drove his fist into the leader’s face, dropping to the ground as the man cried out in pain. A gunshot rang out but Louis was still moving, rolling with the fall and reaching for his ankle. He came up with a knife and threw it hard at the man who had just fired before running at a sprint for the other. A scream from behind him said his aim was as good as ever.

The second man fired before Louis reached him. He saw the gun rise and swerved to the side but the razor sharp line of pain that seared across his torso said he’d been hit anyway. He stumbled, colliding with the man at full speed and knocking them both to the ground. The gun went flying, and Louis scrambled after it. He scooped it up, turning quickly to face the room.

Nothing. The leader was clutching a profusely bleeding and probably broken nose. A few feet away from him the other man stood leaning against a wall, the hilt of Louis’ throwing knife protruding just under his shoulder. His face was pale. The third man had hit his head pretty hard when he fell. He wouldn’t be walking that one off.

And sitting in a heap by the now open door was Harry, his expression midway between terror and relief, shock and awe.

Louis shook his head and looked back at the injured gangsters. He couldn’t risk losing focus; that was what had doomed these idiots.

“All right,” Louis said. “I’m going to walk out of here. You are going to stay here and not come after us. Do I make myself quite clear?”

The leader nodded. Louis backed towards the door, not lowering the gun. “Harry, get behind me.” Harry said nothing, but Louis could hear him moving. He glanced behind him to check, and spotted motion from the corner of his eye. Spinning on a dime, Louis fired towards the movement. The leader had pulled a gun – probably that of the man Louis had knifed. Louis’ bullet struck the leader in the shoulder before he could fire, and he screamed, dropping the gun.

“On second thought,” Louis muttered, “perhaps I should take their guns.” He picked up the gun he’d come in with, tucking it into its holster. He approached the fallen leader cautiously, but encountered no resistance of any kind. He backed out the door, never taking his eyes off the men.

The minute they were outside, Louis broke into a run, motioning for Harry to follow. A stabbing pain in his side made Louis wince as he ran. He touched his side and his hand came away bloody.

“Will, you’re hurt!” Harry exclaimed. Louis shook his head and kept running.

“I’m fine,” he said. “We have to go.” He winced again. “Though maybe you should drive.”

They reached the car and Louis dug the keys out of the wheel well, tossing them to Harry before climbing in on the passenger’s side. Harry started the car smoothly and pulled out of the alley. Louis leaned back in his seat and breathed for a moment. They were alive. Somehow. Now they had to stay that way.

“Where am I going?” Harry asked. Louis opened his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just drive. Inconspicuous, but evasive.”

“What?”

“Fast, but not so fast as to attract attention,” Louis said. He twisted to look out the rear window, wincing as his ribs protested. “And lots of turns. Just in case they’re following us.”

“Oookay,” Harry said. Louis refused to look at him, but he could picture his face in perfect detail, every wrinkle around his mouth and eyes as he frowned in confusion.

No one seemed to be following them, but Louis wasn’t willing to take that on faith. When ten minutes had passed with no sign of pursuit, he finally allowed himself to relax.

“I think we’re okay,” he said. Harry said nothing, and Louis couldn’t blame him. Instead of thinking about it, Louis started unbuttoning his shirt. He winced as he pulled it off, the fabric sticking slightly to the wound in his side. There was a good deal of blood, but it didn’t look too deep. Hurt like hell, though.

Louis grabbed a bottle of water from the console and poured some onto his shirtsleeve, pressing it to the wound. The contact intensified the pain exponentially, and Louis clenched his teeth hard but couldn’t keep back a quiet hiss. After a few seconds he pulled away the shirt.

A line of torn flesh about three inches long marked his left side. Blood was still seeping from it, but slowly, and there appeared to be no further damage.

He felt Harry’s eyes on him and looked up. “Eyes on the road,” Louis said wryly. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my chest before.” He regretted the joke as soon as he’d made it – bad taste, and what did Harry even think of him just now? – but as he glanced over to apologize, he noticed that Harry’s cheeks were flushed.

“I’m not –” Harry began, then stopped. “Nevermind. How is it?”

“Pretty mild, all things considered,” Louis said. “Only a graze, really.”

Harry was quiet, and Louis thought he’d gone back to not talking, but after a moment he said, “You seem to know a lot about that sort of thing.”

Louis’ heart clenched.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “Maybe.” Shit, what was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain any of this?

Now they were both silent, awkwardly so. Harry made a left turn and kept driving. Louis looked around. “Are we going anywhere in particular?” he asked.

“I know a place,” Harry said. “You’ll like it.”

“Oh.” Louis wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he was in no position to argue, so he stuck to tending to his injury. He mopped up the worst of the blood with the shirtsleeve and ripped the other one into strips. Then he folded the remainder of the shirt into a thick pad and bound it to his side. It was cumbersome and not particularly comfortable, but it would serve for the time being.

He was nearly finished when Harry turned onto a tiny dirt side road that looked like it hadn’t been used in a year. The jouncing of the car sent new spikes of pain through him, and he gritted his teeth and pulled the knot tighter. At last, the car stopped and Harry climbed out. Louis grabbed his suit jacket from the backseat, loosely donning it before following.

When Louis caught up to him, Harry sat on a large rock overlooking the ocean. They were at a small, rocky beach that looked virtually untouched by humans. Trees and bushes grew along the edges of the pebbled cove and the waves washed gently against the shore. It was peaceful, and though Louis had no idea how Harry had found it, he understood exactly why he’d liked it.

“I come here to think, sometimes,” Harry said, and Louis jumped. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been silent. “It always helps me to unscramble all the thoughts tumbling around in my head.” He turned slightly towards Louis, not facing him, just looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “They’re definitely scrambled right now.”

“I can imagine,” Louis said. His voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the rush of the surf. Harry turned back to the sea.

“I don’t know that I can unscramble them by myself,” he said, and his voice was mild but there was an underlying tension that made Louis’ heart ache. He didn’t know what to say.

After several long minutes, Harry sighed. “Right, then.” He stood and started back to the car.

Louis blinked, confused. “What are you doing?” Harry paused, then turned back to him. His eyes were damp, Louis realized. That hurt too.

“You are beautiful and funny and kind,” Harry told him. “You’re smart and interesting and strong and you make me happy. You saved my life back there, and I’m so grateful, but – Will, I can’t do this.” Harry’s lips were trembling and he dashed at his eyes with one hand. “What you did back there, what you said – I don’t-” He stopped and looked up at Louis. “Who are you?”

Louis didn’t know how to answer that. He gazed helplessly at Harry.

At last, Harry nodded. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Will, I can’t – I can’t be with someone I don’t know. I can’t be with someone who’s keeping things from me – big things, I can tell, even if I don’t know what. I can’t be – I just – I _can’t_.”

Louis blanched. “Harry – please, I – you – please!” He reached for him, pulling his face down and kissing him. Harry’s cheeks were damp and his lips tasted salty, but the touch was still electrifying and Louis breathed him in and in and in –

And then he was gone. Louis stumbled, unprepared for the empty space in front of him. (There was another one inside him; he wasn’t prepared for that one either.) When he looked up, Harry was walking towards the car. His shoulders were hunched and his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Louis watched him go. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t _breathe_. How – what – he didn’t even know what he didn’t know anymore.

He spun, punching a tree with all his might. Which was a terrible, terrible mistake, as his ribs promptly informed him. He screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his side as tears of pain rolled down his face. He gasped for breath, spots dancing before his eyes.

Suddenly, warm hands covered his own, pressing gently against the makeshift bandage. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” a voice whispered.

“Don’t punch trees,” he said, his voice high and squeaky. Harry’s laugh was almost hysterical.

“Okay,” he said. “Shit, Will. Breathe.”

Louis breathed, and after a moment he could see again, then move again. He leaned back against Harry for a moment, his spine pressed to Harry’s chest. A twinge shot through his ribs each time he inhaled.

“Please don’t leave,” he muttered hazily. Through clumped lashes he could see Harry’s face above his.

“I-” he said, then stopped. His voice was stronger the second time. “I won’t.” They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound Louis’ irregular breaths mixed with the rush of the surf. Harry’s arms stayed wrapped gently around him, holding him.

“You’re right,” Louis said at last. “You deserve the truth.” Harry started to speak, but Louis lifted a hand, touching his mouth gently. Harry fell silent. “I want to tell you the truth,” Louis said, “and I want you to know that I wanted to tell you the whole time. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Harry asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Because…” Louis trailed off, biting his lip as he realized just how ridiculously made up the truth sounded. He looked at the ground. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Louis huffed a laugh, though there was little humour in it. “I wouldn’t believe me,” he said.

“Will-”

“I work for MI6,” Louis said. “I’m here to keep an eye on the British Diplomat to Greece, and because my superiors are trying to bribe me back after I quit.”

Silence. Louis waited, trying not to imagine what Harry might be thinking.

“Really?” Harry said at last. Louis blew out a breath.

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry said. “But you do have a tendency to make jokes. And this isn’t the time for them.”

Louis couldn’t help but laugh, ironic and inappropriate as it might be. The sound caught in his throat and choked off. He twisted around to face Harry, ignoring the pain in his side.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious in my life,” Louis told him, meeting his eyes. “I’m a spy, an undercover agent, whatever you want to call it. At least for a little while longer. And that’s the truth.”

Harry was quiet again. Louis watched his expression, noting each little twitch of his lips or his eyebrows but absolutely at a loss for what they might mean. At last, Harry nodded.

“That would explain a lot,” he said. “How you took apart those gangsters, for instance. Not to mention the unusual knowledge of bullet wounds.”

“Apart from the knowledge that I shouldn’t punch trees,” Louis said drily. “But yeah, getting shot is something you can pretty well expect in the intelligence services. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse?” Harry said, his eyebrows rising. Louis nodded.

“Been shot twice in the gut,” he said. His fingers traced lightly over the marks on his stomach, though he didn’t show them. “It’s a minor miracle the bullets missed anything important, though one nicked a rib pretty good. A couple of other grazes of varying severity.”

“Is that what those scars were?” Harry asked. “Injuries in – in the line of duty, I guess?” Louis nodded slowly.

“The assortment of little ones on my back is from falling out a window, like I told you,” he said. “But it wasn’t an accident, or a drunken mishap. Some human traffickers pushed me out after I blew my cover to stop them from killing a nine year old girl.” Harry said nothing. Louis wasn’t sure what he could have said. “She died anyway,” he said after a moment. “I couldn’t save her.”

“You tried,” Harry said, and Louis lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. He would always feel guilty anyway, haunted by the people he couldn’t save. He’d never even known her name.

He suddenly realized that the dynamic of the conversation had changed completely. Where before he’d been the one trying to persuade Harry, to explain, to fix something that maybe couldn’t be fixed, now Harry was doing it to him. He shook his head.

“Enough of that,” he said. “What else do you want to know? I’ll answer as best I can.”

“I… everything,” Harry said. “Anything you can tell me.”

So Louis told him. He leaned against a tree and told Harry about his earliest missions, working as a spotter or as backup to someone doing the real work. He told him about starting undercover work, and how he’d taken to it like a fish to water. He told him the rough outlines of dozens of his missions, large and small, successful and… less so. He told him about the people he’d helped and the lives he couldn’t save.

And then… then they came to the last mission, the one that had brought him here, and Louis hesitated at last. It still hurt, it was still so raw and painful and intense, and he was so – everything.

He stopped talking.

“Are you not allowed to tell me about that one?” Harry asked. He’d sat silently through all Louis’ stories, just watching him, fiddling slightly with Louis’ fingers.

Louis smiled wryly. “I’m not really allowed to tell you any of that stuff. It’s not that. I just…” He sobered again, biting his lip. “The mission went off the rails. A lot.”

“More off the rails than floating down a river in a whiskey barrel while criminals shot at you?” Harry smiled, trying to make light of the situation, but Louis just shook his head.

“That was different. That was… everyone who got hurt had made the decision to be involved. They knew the risks. But this mission…” He trailed off again. Harry squeezed his hand gently but said nothing. Louis was grateful. He took a deep breath.

“MI6 received intelligence that suggested that a gang of dangerous operatives were hiding in a particular location – a rundown house in the suburbs of Birmingham. The area was mostly abandoned. Not a bad place for such a hideout. We staked it out for a few days, then moved to flush them out.”

He paused again. This was harder than he’d thought it would be, and that was saying something.

“I was in a house across the street, watching the front door. I was to take down anyone who got out that way. When the door started to open I aimed low – shoot them in the leg so they can’t flee.”

“What happened?” Harry asked gently when Louis didn’t continue. Louis couldn’t meet his eyes.

“The door opened and I fired before I realized who had come through.” He swallowed. “It was a little girl, maybe six years old.” Harry gasped but Louis kept talking. They hadn’t even gotten to the worst part. “The bullet hit her in the neck,” he said. “Low on an adult male is still high on a little girl. She bled out in minutes.”

Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t move. Louis glanced at him, trying to read his face, but all he could get was shock. Was he repulsed? Louis knew he probably would be, in Harry’s place. He closed his eyes.

“I just keep seeing her,” he said. “Just… lying there. She looked so much like one of my little sisters, and I just –” He stopped, trying to breathe around the lump in his throat. Hot tears escaped his eyes and burned their way down his face. “The information came from a human trafficker. They didn’t tell us that. He’d lied to us; the people in the house were people one of his competitors had brought into the country.” He swallowed hard. “I quit right after that. That was… I wasn’t okay with that. I wasn’t okay with being lied to – well, not lied to, but – I wasn’t okay with it. And I really wasn’t okay with – I killed her, Harry, I did it, and it was my fault, all my-”

“It wasn’t,” Harry’s voice cut him off. It was quiet, but firm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” Louis said bleakly.

“No!” Harry’s voice was insistent. “It was the guy who set you up – it was his fault. He knew what could happen to those people – what _would_ happen – but he didn’t care.”

“I’m the one that killed her, though,” Louis said. “I pulled the trigger.” His chest felt like something was squeezing it, crushing it until he could barely breathe. “I’ve killed a lot of people.”

“They were bad people.”

“Who gets to decide that?” Louis asked. “Maybe I’m a bad person too.”

“You’re not-”

“I’m a murderer, Harry!”

“You’re not!” Harry’s hand covered Louis; mouth before he could argue again. Louis’ eyes flew open. “You’re not a murderer,” Harry repeated. “You’re not a bad person. A bad person wouldn’t feel this much guilt over what they did. And you’re not going to persuade me otherwise, so stop it.”

Louis wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe him so much it hurt. He wanted to stop saying things that tried to make Harry hate him. He wanted – he wanted so many things, most of which couldn’t be, could never be.

“You’re not a bad person,” Harry said again. “You’ve made mistakes, sure, but so have I.”

“Have you killed anyone?” Louis asked, his words muffled by Harry’s palm. Harry seemed to understand anyways, and gave him a tired look.

“You _try_ ,” he said. “You try to do the right thing, to help people, even at the risk of your own life. How is that being a bad person?” Louis wasn’t sure what to say to that. “You saved hundreds of lives,” Harry continued, before Louis could think up a reply. “You told me so yourself. You made a difference – a _good_ one. You positively affected so many people’s lives – including mine. Will, I lo – what?”

Louis had winced, the motion apparent even with his mouth covered.

“What is it?” Harry repeated, his hand falling from Louis’ face.

“That’s, um.” Louis grimaced. “That’s not actually my name.” Harry blinked, his face carefully blank.

“Oh,” he said. “I see.”

“It’s standard protocol,” Louis said hurriedly, feeling like he had to explain himself. “We don’t want our real names traced back to anything we might do in real life, during our time off. I don’t even know Lou’s real name, but it sure as hell isn’t Lou.”

“What’s yours?” Harry asked. His voice was distant, almost disinterested, as though the inquiry was one of only mild curiosity. Louis could read the slight tension that said otherwise in the way he held his jaw, and the set of his eyes. This wasn’t easy for Louis, but it was even less so for Harry.

Louis extended a hand, and Harry took it a tad awkwardly.

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Louis said. “Twenty-four, born in Doncaster, five younger sisters and a brother.” He shook Harry’s hand, and Harry let him, not putting up any resistance.

“Louis,” he repeated. “Okay. I can do that.”

Louis studied him. He looked dazed. Perhaps it was time to stop dropping bombshells on him for the day. A sharp laugh made him start.

“So Lou isn’t Lou, and you are?” Harry looked amused. Louis nodded slowly.

“You could say that.” Definitely time to stop.

Louis’ back ached as he stood, protesting too long spent in the same position. Louis touched Harry’s shoulder gently.

“I should get you home,” he said. “Your mother is probably worried.”

Harry looked like he was about to argue, but at the mention of his mother he straightened. “My mother!” he said. “She must be frantic.” He rose to his feet, nearly tripping in his haste. A smile fluttered momentarily across Louis’ face as he followed Harry to the car.

~*~*~

Louis took the wheel on the way back. Harry sat in the passenger’s seat. His brief urgency quickly faded, replaced by a dull dazedness of sorts. Louis tried to keep his eyes on the road, to give Harry as much privacy as he could manage, but his eyes kept drifting over. Harry always looked the same – shaken, almost shell-shocked. Guilt was bitter in Louis’ mouth, but no matter what came next, at least Harry was alive.

And Louis had no idea what would come next. He didn’t know whether Harry would ever want to see him again. He didn’t know – well, anything.

At the direction of the GPS, Louis pulled up in front of a small townhouse and cut the engines. They sat in silence for a moment, Louis not quite sure what to say, not quite daring to say anything. After a full minute, he swallowed.

“We’re here,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. Harry shifted in the seat beside him.

“Yeah,” he said, and was silent again. Still he didn’t open the door.

Louis turned to look at him, the breath whooshing out of him as he took in Harry’s face. He was staring out the front window, a distant expression on his face. He looked calm, but his eyes were red and damp. Louis hated it, and hated even more that he was the cause of it. Maybe he hated himself too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

That seemed to force some life back into Harry. He turned to look at Louis, raising a hand that paused just short of his face. It hovered between them, an unspoken uncertainty. Louis bit the inside of his cheek hard.

At last, Harry sighed and let his hand fall. It settled on the central console as he turned back to face the horizon.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

Louis shifted in his seat. “Do you want to?” he asked, his voice low.

Harry looked sharply at him, but his eyes softened after a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I do. W-“ He stopped, and Louis grimaced. “Louis,” he said. “I’m not – I’m not mad at you. Confused, yes, and stressed and hurt, but…”

He trailed off. Louis watched him, silently, his eyes falling to Harry’s hand, still sitting between them. He reached for it, slowly, uncertainly. When he wrapped his fingers around Harry’s, Harry looked up at him.

“I want to see you.”

Louis’ throat was thick, and he had to clear it before he could speak. “Will you be here or back on Aegina?”

Harry paused to consider. “I don’t know,” he said. “I would usually be heading back in the morning, but…” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

Louis nodded slowly. “I don’t know what the plan is on my end,” he said. “I don’t – shit, I don’t even know what happened at the speeches.” He frowned, distracted, then shook his head. “Nevermind. What do you think?”

Harry shrugged slowly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I – I don’t know.”

Louis thought for a moment. “Do what you’d normally do,” he said at last. “I’ll meet you when I can.”

“Okay,” Harry said. There was a beat of silence, then he opened his door and the sounds of the city flooded into the car. Birds, traffic, voices – it was like they’d been in a whole other world, and only just returned. Louis rested his hands on the wheel, waiting for the sound of the passenger door slamming shut. It didn’t come.

“Wi – Louis,” Harry corrected himself. Louis turned towards him and found himself abruptly pulled into a crushing kiss. He reached blindly for Harry, tangling a hand in his hair. Harry’s hand dug into his shoulder, his fingers almost clawlike. It hurt, a little, but Louis didn’t care.

He jerked back as a sudden stab of pain flared in his side. Harry pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I forgot – your wound, I didn’t-”

Louis placed a finger over Harry’s mouth and he fell silent. They regarded each other for a moment without speaking, then Louis leaned up, moving his hand aside to press his lips gently to Harry’s.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against Harry’s. “I’m not.” He pulled back, smiling, and his heart fluttered as the corners of Harry’s mouth quirked up in the barest hint of an answering smile.

“I should go,” Harry said regretfully. Louis sighed and nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said.

Now Harry’s smile was visible, though still only a shadow of its usual brightness. “I hope so,” he said. A moment later he stepped out of the car, mounting the steps of the townhouse and disappearing through the door.

Louis watched him go. When he could no longer explain waiting, he started the engine and pulled back into the street. He entered the address of the hotel into the GPS and let the electronic female voice take over.

~*~*~

When Louis let himself into his hotel room, he found not Lou but a tall, imposing figure of a man in a dark blue suit. This was far less surprising to Louis than it probably should have been, and he said nothing. The man rose from the armchair in which he had been sitting and crossed the room.

“Agent Leon Penn,” he said, holding out a hand. Louis shook it.

“Where is Agent Teasdale?”

“Hospital,” Penn answered. Louis’ eyebrows shot up in spite of himself.

“What happened?”

“The attack happened,” Penn said. “Your partner was injured defending Diplomat Goulding.”

“She’s not my – nevermind.”

“I am to escort you to the hospital where she will debrief you,” Penn continued. Louis considered that.

“Probably a good idea,” he said. “I received a mild laceration, left peripheral thorax.”

“The doctors can patch you up there,” Penn said. “Are you able to drive?”

“Yes,” Louis said. “It’s not severe.”

Penn nodded. “Let’s go then.”

Louis retraced his steps back to the car he’d just left. He’d spent a lot of time in it over the last few hours, travelling from traumatic experience to traumatic experience. He wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of it.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Penn had only to flash a badge at an employee and they were quickly led up to a room on the third floor. Inside, Lou sat in a hospital bed. The nature of her injury was quickly apparent – her leg was elevated, white bandages and gauze wrapped tightly around her calf. A red spot bloomed in the middle.

Despite her injury, Lou still gave off an air of leadership and control. As Louis watched, she conversed seriously with one agent, while dispatching two others from the room, performing her job as usual despite the situation. The work must continue, she would have said. Indeed, it never stopped.

It was only a few moments before Lou looked up. Pain made her face drawn and lined, but she smiled when she spotted Louis hovering in the doorway.

“You made it,” she said as Louis approached her bed. “I assumed as much when the police reported only three injured gangsters at the address, but… well, it’s a relief to see you in one piece.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Your leg – what happened?”

Lou grimaced. “They attacked about a third of the way through the speech,” she said. “It was a mess – half a dozen guns scattered throughout the room all started shooting. They were aiming for Goulding, but they weren’t particular about it.”

Louis’ stomach clenched and he swallowed hard. “How many?”

“Sixteen wounded,” Lou said, her voice low. “Three dead.”

Louis looked away. He hated this part. He hated thinking about all the people he couldn’t save.

“If it helps,” Lou said softly, “the casualties would have been much higher if we hadn’t been prepared. We took them down fast, and the information they give us will mean that their organization is done for.”

“It helps,” Louis said. “But it still hurts.” Lou reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I was getting the diplomat off the stage when I was hit,” she continued. “The doctors tell me the bullet shattered my tibia. I’ll be in for some pretty major surgery, once they deal with the other more urgent injuries.”

“This isn’t urgent?” Louis was aiming for wry humour, but it just came out bleak.

“It’s not life-threatening,” she said with a shrug. “And it’s not getting any worse. Besides, I’ll be out of commission for a while after they knock me out, and I still have work to do. Speaking of which – anything to report? What happened on your end?”

Ah yes. His own personal mess. Louis bit the inside of his cheek hard and took a deep breath, forcing his mind to calm clarity. “Three men had Harry tied up at the address in their note,” he said. “They released him in exchange for me. I managed to overpower them afterwards, when they were distracted.”

“Both of you got away safe?”

“Yes,” Louis confirmed. “Well – I got grazed, but all things considered, I came out lucky.”

Lou breathed a sigh of relief. “Get that seen to and then go back to the hotel and get some rest,” she ordered. “I won’t be coming back – obviously – but Penn will accompany you.”

“Confirmed,” Louis said. He paused for a moment, then leaned in to give her a quick hug. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

Lou smiled. “I always do.”

~*~*~

A rap on the door roused Louis from his sleep. He lifted his head, his brain still foggy. Blinking to clear his eyes, he looked at the clock. 6:15. What on Earth?

He was starting to push himself out of bed when he heard the door open, and soft voices speaking urgently. He recognized Penn’s intonation, and allowed himself to collapse face first back onto the pillows. He was nearly asleep when a knock on his own door forced him back.

“Whajawan?” he slurred out.

“It’s Agent Penn.”

“I know that,” Louis groaned. “Do I have to wake up?”

Silence followed, suggesting that Penn wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Louis sighed. “I’m coming,” he said, shoving himself up onto unsteady feet. He staggered to the door and opened it. “Yes?”

Penn looked startled, but he quickly covered it, returning to his usual businesslike veneer. He didn’t mince words, cutting straight to the point.

“You’re being recalled.”

Louis blinked. The words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t seem to make sense of them. “Recalled? I don’t-”

“They’re sending you back to England,” Penn clarified. “Today.”

“Today?” He sounded like a broken record, repeating back everything. To be fair, he was still half-asleep. But one thing pushed its way through his fuzzy consciousness. “No, I can’t go back today.”

“The necessary arrangements have already been made,” Penn continued.

Louis sat up straighter. “No, you don’t understand – I can’t go back today.”

“That’s Central’s call to make,” Penn said. “And they say you are.”

“I’m not,” Louis insisted. He was fully awake now. “I need to – there’s something I have to do.”

Penn’s gaze was level. “If you can do it before your flight leaves at ten, then by all means. Otherwise,” he tilted his head meaningfully. “You will be on that plane.”

“But I – fine.” Every second spent arguing was a second wasted. Louis was heading for his bags before he finished the sentence. He pulled on a light t-shirt, shucking off his sweats in favour of a pair of shorts. “I’ll be on your stupid plane.” He was headed for the door inside a minute, his brisk pace putting him in front of the elevator thirty seconds after that.

Penn followed, to Louis’ immense displeasure.

“What the fuck do you want?” he demanded as the elevator descended.

Penn raised an eyebrow. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “I’m simply fulfilling my obligations to ensure you are on the plane where you’re supposed to be.”

“I said I’d be there.”

“And I determined that you were a flight risk,” Penn replied evenly. “I’m coming with you.”

Louis hated him, though he had to admit that he was probably right about the flight risk part. He said nothing as he exited the elevator, heading straight for the car. Harry’s address was already in the GPS, and since the streets were silent and empty at balls o’clock in the morning, the ride went quickly. The only thing that detracted from the perfect serenity of the morning was Penn's presence in the passenger seat.

Louis parked rakishly at the curb, jumping out of the car almost before it turned off. He turned back to Penn.

“Don’t you fucking dare follow me,” he said. Penn said nothing, and Louis turned away, crossing the front walk in a few long steps. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

Nothing.

He checked his watch. It was nearly seven – early, but not unreasonably so. He pressed the button again, and then knocked hard on the door. Still, there was no reply from within. He rose up on his toes, peering in the window. There was no movement, no signs of life whatsoever.

His temper flared and kicked the door hard. He was too late.

The curses that spewed from his mouth as he stormed back to the car would have made a sailor blush. He threw himself into the seat and started the car in a rough motion. A moment later they were moving, and Louis honestly couldn’t care less if he was breaking a few traffic laws.

“Where are we going?” Penn asked after a few minutes. Louis said nothing. Penn shifted in his seat. “Thompson.”

“We’re going to the ferry docks,” Louis said. There was a pause.

“We don’t really have time to go back to your residence,” Penn said.

“I don’t give a damn what you think,” Louis muttered. Louder, he said, “We’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Really?” Penn sounded sceptical. “Isn’t it a forty-five minute trip?”

Louis had no idea. Curse Penn and his goddamn research skills.

“We don’t have time, Thompson,” Penn repeated.

“Too fucking bad.”

“I know you’re upset-”

“Upset?”

“I know you’ve grown attached to Mr. Styles-”

“ _You don’t know anything!_ ”

The words felt ripped from his throat, leaving it raw. Louis took a deep breath, trying to act calmer. “You have no idea,” he started, but his voice cracked and he couldn’t – it was too much. His eyes swam, moisture making the road blurry, and he blinked hard.

“Will.” Penn’s voice was gentle, as was the hand that rested on Louis’ shoulder. “Pull over.” Louis tried to pull away from the hand, but it tightened. “Pull over,” Penn repeated, and Louis obeyed.

The moment the car stopped moving he hunched forward, burying his hands in his hair. The hand on his shoulder didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” Penn said, and Louis was so done. He straightened, shrugging off Penn’s hand.

“You’re sorry?” he repeated. “You’re _sorry_? This is supposed to be comforting? Supposed to help? You…” He trailed off, searching for something scathing enough. “You pathetic, spineless, empty-headed, goody-two-shoes _worm!_ ”

All right, so his insults suffered with his rage. Penn seemed to be hurt anyway, an injured look flashing across his face.

“I didn’t even want to _be_ here,” Louis continued. “I wanted out of this hell of a life weeks ago but your precious Central sent me here and now I want to stay for just a little while longer and you _won’t fucking let me!_ ”

Penn said nothing. That pissed Louis off even more. “Say something, damn it!” he yelled. He moved to slap Penn, but before he could make contact, he found his hand held in a viselike grip. A moment later his other hand was similarly trapped.

“What do you want me to say?” Penn asked. His voice was calm, but just a little bit annoyed, which made Louis smirk. “I said I was sorry, and you chewed me out. I have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and I intend to do it properly.” Louis was too stunned by the rapid change in power to say a word. Penn studied him for a moment before speaking again.

“Now you have a choice,” he said. “You can promise not to do anything stupid like that again, voluntarily switch seats with me and let me take you to the airport, or I can cuff you and then we can do the same thing.”

He was good. Louis hated him, but he was good.

“Fine,” he snapped. Penn didn’t let go of his arms. “I said I would do it,” he repeated, tugging against the hold. He made absolutely no progress.

“I heard you,” Penn said, but he still waited another moment before releasing his grip. “Now you get in the passenger seat and I’ll drive.”

Louis sullenly obeyed. He considered making a break for it, but if Penn could catch his arms that fast, he was pretty sure he could run at least fast enough to catch him. He slumped in the passenger seat, the picture of dejection as Penn started the car.

“Can I at least leave a note?” he asked suddenly.

Penn glanced over. “What?”

“A note. A short written message. A piece of paper with words on it.”

Now Penn even looked annoyed. “I know what a note is,” he said. “What do you want to do, exactly?”

“I want to use a pen or a pencil and a piece of paper-”

“Less exactly,” Penn said exasperatedly. “Unless the leaving of this note doesn’t actually matter to you.”

The slight smile of self-satisfaction dropped from Louis face. “No,” he said quickly. “I just – can I write a note, and leave it in the mailbox or something? To say goodbye.”

Penn said nothing for several seconds. At last, he slowly nodded. “All right,” he said. “You write the note and I’ll swing by the address before we head to the airport. But no more detours. And no monkey business.”

“Deal,” Louis said. “Got a piece of paper?”

Penn pulled a small notepad and a pen from his pants pocket and handed them over. Louis stared at them for a moment.

“Do you always carry this stuff?” he asked.

“It’s good to be prepared,” Penn said, sounding defensive. “If you want to use them, stop being a dick and just be grateful.”

He had a point, so Louis shut up (not an easy feat) and focused on the note. He had no idea what to say. There was so much he wanted Harry to know, so much he wanted to explain and apologize for. He could never fit it all.

 _Dear Harry,_ he wrote. _The mission has been ended early, and I’m being sent back to England. I’m so sorry. I’d be there if I could, I promise, but what Central wants, Central gets. Except me. They can’t have me._

He stopped, thinking. What was he supposed to say? What could he possibly say to make any of what had happened okay? Where could they possibly go from here?

In a few hours he would be thousands of miles away, with no way to contact Harry and no prospects for coming back. He was returning to a different life, one that Harry wasn’t in, and maybe didn’t belong in. Greece was Harry’s home, and Louis couldn’t change that. And England was Louis’ home. The two just weren’t reconcilable.

Louis’ hand hovered over the paper as his chest clenched. He’d been a fool, and now he was paying for it.

 _I’m going to miss you so much,_ he wrote, his hand trembling. _But we knew this was coming. We just didn’t think it would be this soon. I’m so sorry. I should never have done this to you. Please forgive me._

_With love, Louis._

He signed his name – his real name, he would never be Will again after today – and folded the paper in half. A moment later they pulled up in front of the house that was almost becoming familiar. Louis exited the car, making his way to the door slowly. Each step felt like he was wading through syrup. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to do this.

He had to do this.

He pushed the folded piece of paper through the mail slot and turned, walking back to the car before he could change his mind. He didn’t know what he would change his mind to. He just knew that it hurt.

Penn said nothing as he entered the car. His expression might have been sympathetic, but Louis turned away, looking out the window before he could be sure. He didn’t want Penn’s sympathy. But the only thing he did want was miles away, across the Mediterranean Sea, and he couldn’t have it.

~*~*~

Normal life was dull.

It wasn’t bad, and Louis didn’t regret his choice to quit, but there was no denying that it was a big change from the life he’d been used to.

He visited with his mother for a couple of weeks after returning to England. She was elated to see him, and though she tried not to show it too much, she was relieved to have him out of the intelligence business.

He didn’t tell her the reason, the thing that had finally pushed him over the edge. She asked, of course, but he just said that things had gotten out of hand. She saw the haunted, hollow look in his eyes and didn’t press.

A part-time job in a coffee shop paid well, but it was stressful. He jumped every time someone walked in, used to constantly scanning for threats.

He was walking home from work one day when his route took him past a newsstand. He walked past it every day, and usually paid it no mind, but today something caught his eye. He stepped closer.

A headline blazed across one of the magazines, its words dramatic and its design vibrant, but what had snagged Louis’ attention was the smaller text below – _An exclusive by Gemma Styles._

“You buyin’ anything?” the man behind the counter asked. He rested his elbows on the counter, leaning forward to see what had caught Louis’ eyes. “ _Worldly_ , eh? Not a very popular one, that, but a good read.”

“Is it?” Louis asked absently. His mouth was dry. He’d lost count of how many times he’d thought of Harry in the weeks since he’d left Greece. Often, to be sure, at least at first. He popped up from time to time still, whenever Louis saw a particularly photogenic moment, and nearly every time he saw a sunset, but the memories were quieter. Louis missed him, missed him desperately, but he’d slowly managed to push thoughts of him to the back of his mind, buried next to all the other things he tried not to think about.

There were a lot of them.

But now Louis was closer to Harry than he’d been in weeks, so close he could almost taste it.

“How much?” Louis asked, interrupting the man’s chatter about the magazine.

“Five pound fifty.”

It was more than Louis had expected, but he dug out his wallet anyway. The man smiled and thanked him as he handed over his change, and when Louis walked away he held a copy of a magazine that contained words written by Harry’s sister.

He read Gemma’s piece twice. He didn’t understand parts of it, and wasn’t overly interested in the subject, but it was a connection. He’d tried to sever all of them, but now that he had one, he couldn’t quite seem to let go. At last, he let the magazine fall shut, staring at the back page.

 _For information or inquiries,_ Worldly _Magazine can be contacted at the telephone numbers below._

Heart thumping, Louis picked up the phone. He stared at it a moment, steeling his courage, and began to dial.

“ _Worldly_ Magazine, how may I direct your call?” The female voice was chipper, in stark contrast with the weight that was settled in Louis’ stomach.

“Um, hi, yeah,” he said. So eloquent. “I’m looking to speak with Gemma Styles?”

“One moment, please.”

There was a click and a short whirring noise, and then another soft, female voice.

“Gemma Styles, _Worldly_ Magazine.”

“Hi,” Louis said.

“Hello.”

“Um.” Why had he done this? It had been a terrible idea. “This might be a strange question, but I was wondering how your brother is?”

There was a pause. “That is a strange question,” Gemma said. Her voice was guarded. “May I know who’s asking?”

“I’m – a friend of his,” Louis said. “My name’s Louis Tomlinson? I haven’t seen him in a while, and I was wondering how he was.”

Another pause, this one longer. “I’m not sure who you are,” Gemma said eventually, “but I don’t really feel comfortable talking to you about my family.” Louis frowned. He’d expected animosity, perhaps, but she didn’t seem to – oh. The double name thing. Whoops.

“I have a lot of work to do,” Gemma said, pulling him back to the conversation at hand. “So if you’ll excuse me-”

“I’m Will Thompson.”

Dead silence followed. He’d guessed right. When she spoke again, her voice was low and harsh. “You’re Will?”

“I – sort of. I was. It’s complicated.”

“You fucking bastard,” Gemma said. “You broke my brother’s heart.”

Louis looked down. “I know,” he said.

“Who do you think you are?” she asked. “What do you think you’re doing? Calling me to ask about him?”

“I – I had to know,” Louis said. “Please, just tell me – how is he? Is he okay?”

“You ruined him,” Gemma hissed into the phone. “You took his heart and stabbed him in the back, how do you think he is?”

Louis wanted to throw up. “I didn’t mean – I didn’t think he’d be that upset.”

“Upset?” Gemma’s voice was incredulous. “He’s not upset. He’s devastated. I’ve never seen him like this before. I don’t know what you did to him, but-”

“I made a mistake!” Louis said. His throat was thick, and his eyes swam. He squeezed them shut, rubbing his temples with one hand. “I made a mistake,” he repeated.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“I have to fix it.” His eyes popped back open.

There was a pause. “What?”

“Um.” Louis was just as surprised as Gemma, but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. “No, yeah. I have to fix it.”

“What are you saying?” Gemma asked, sounding apprehensive. He couldn’t blame her.

“I’m going to go see him,” Louis said. His voice grew stronger with every word. “I’m going to apologize and tell him I was wrong and ask for him to give me another chance.”

“Do you think you deserve another chance?” Gemma’s words stung, but Louis knew he’d earned her derision.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe not. That’s up to Harry.”

“Well, I… can’t argue with that,” Gemma said. “But let me make one thing very clear to you.” There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line, like she was shifting her position. “If you hurt my brother again in any way, I will not hesitate to hunt you down. I will find you and I will make you wish you had never been born.” She paused. “Am I making myself understood?”

“Yes,” Louis said. He had no doubt that he could protect himself from Gemma, probably even hide from her with the skills he’d learned as a spy. Nevertheless, he felt a grudging respect for her. She cared about her brother, a lot. He could relate.

“I’m not going to hurt him again,” he promised her. “Not if I can possibly help it.”

“Help it,” she said, and hung up the phone.

~*~*~

He left the next day.

His mother was shocked at his hasty departure, particularly with its almost complete lack of details. Louis told her only that it was important, and that he’d be in touch. He didn’t want to explain the mess he’d gotten himself into.

The shitty airline food and uncomfortable seats didn’t bother him as he stared out the window of the plane. Every second that passed brought him nearer to Harry. He could hardly sit still, much to the dismay of his seatmate. Louis ignored his pointed glares, only smiling beatifically in his direction.

On the ferry ride to Aegina, his mood abruptly changed. Excitement turned to apprehension, and joy became nervousness. What if Harry didn’t want to see him? What if he turned him away? He had every right to do so, and plenty of reason, but Louis had no back up plans. He had dived blindly in, acting on impulse and hoping against hope that it might pay off. There was no compelling reason to believe that it would.

By the time he stood on Harry’s front porch his emotions had settled into a tense middle ground. Nervous excitement and joyous apprehension warred within his chest. He did his best to push them aside as he raised a trembling hand to the doorbell and pressed the button.

Silence. There was no sound, no motion from within.

It was the middle of the day, Louis realized. Harry was probably on one of his photography walks. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now he was stuck on the porch with his suitcase and no idea when Harry would be back.

He almost turned back, but sheer stubbornness prevailed. He’d come this far. He’d taken a lot of risks to get him to this point, made a lot of decisions that were probably less than wise. What was one more?

He sat down on the top step and rested his head in his hands, settling in to wait. It was barely one in the afternoon, and he’d often stayed out past seven with Harry. Every time someone passed his line of sight he jumped to look, then slumped when it wasn’t Harry.

He’d been waiting about an hour when someone turned onto the street. Louis turned to look, not expecting any success, and froze as his eyes caught the familiar tall form and long hair.

Harry hadn’t spotted Louis yet. His eyes were on the ground, his hands shoved into his pockets. His shoulders were slouched, to Louis’ surprise – he’d never seen him anything but peppy – and on closer inspection, he looked to have lost weight.

Louis rose, nervously descending the three steps to the ground.

“Harry?” he called out.

Harry froze. There was a brief pause, and then Harry slowly lifted his head. Louis felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Harry looked – he looked worn, was the word Louis kept coming back to. The eyes that had always been so full of life looked flat and dull. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his clothes were badly rumpled.

Harry’s mouth moved, though no sound emerged. At last, he blew out a shuddering breath. “Louis?”

Louis took another step towards him and then stopped. He wanted to go to him, to touch him, to comfort him, but – he wasn’t there yet. He didn’t have that right.

“I talked to your sister,” he said instead.

Something flickered in Harry’s eyes and disappeared. “Gemma?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“She was worried about you,” Louis said. “She told me – she said you weren’t doing well.”

Harry looked away, and Louis felt his eyes burn. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “The bastards at Central sent me home. I had no idea they were going to. I tried to get to you, I really did, but I couldn’t, and then – well, I thought – I mean, we knew it was going to end, right?”

Harry raised a shoulder slightly. He didn’t look up. Louis bit his lip.

“I wanted a normal life,” he said. “The whole time I was here I just waiting for the mission to end, so I could go home and live that normal life. But maybe – maybe home isn’t where I was born, or where my family is. Maybe it’s not just a place. Maybe it’s a feeling. Maybe home is what you long for when you’re away from it. And-” He paused, swallowing. “Harry, that was you. That was you. I missed you so fucking much, and I just-”

Before Louis realized what was happening, Harry was moving. His long legs covered the distance between them in two quick paces, and then his mouth was on Louis’ and Louis had to grab Harry’s shoulders to keep his knees from giving out. Harry’s hands were tugging at his hair, pulling him closer, and it was everything Louis had wanted.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against Harry’s lips. “I’m so, so-”

Harry kissed him harder, stealing the words off his tongue. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say anything.”

Louis was too breathless to do anything but obey.

The taste of salt on his tongue made him realize that he was crying. Then his thumb found moisture on Harry’s cheek and he realized that maybe they both were. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him harder. They broke apart for a moment, both desperately gasping for air, but within seconds Louis’ mouth had found Harry’s again, not wanting to stop even for those few short seconds. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it came close.

“What about the normal?” Harry whispered suddenly, and Louis was baffled.

“What?”

“You wanted a normal life.”

Louis stared at Harry. His hair was slightly greasy, his skin just a bit too pale, and dark circles marked the hollows under his eyes, but Louis thought he was beautiful. He pulled Harry back in. “Normal is overrated,” he whispered, and kissed him again.

Louis had no idea how long they continued like that, lost in their own world as they were. He couldn’t have said if anyone else saw, or what they might have thought – not that he would have cared. Everything he cared about was right in front of him, kissing him absolutely senseless.

When they finally pulled apart, the sky was darkening.

“Come inside,” Harry whispered. Louis could only nod.

The house was more or less the same as the last time he’d been inside, but the few differences stood out. Where before it was tidy and well-kept, now things felt – not messy, per se, but there was certainly an element of disarray. Dirty dishes sat on a few surfaces. The flowers in the vase were dead. It looked – tired, almost, if a house could look tired.

Louis followed Harry into the kitchen, where he set a kettle on the stove with hands that trembled. “Tea?” he asked. Louis nodded silently.

They stood wordlessly side by side as they waited for the water to heat. Harry kept glancing over at Louis, these quick little sideways looks, then immediately looking away.

“I’m not going to disappear,” Louis said, not sure if he was joking or not.

Harry looked down.

A hot ball of guilt settled in Louis’ throat. He swallowed around it. “I’m not going to disappear,” he repeated. The unspoken “again” hung in the air between them. Still, Harry said nothing. “I think your sister might kill me,” Louis added after a moment.

The faintest of smiles flickered across Harry’s face, almost too fast for Louis to see, but it was there. It vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

“Is that the only reason?” Harry’s voice was quiet. Louis shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Harry looked up towards him. Go on, his eyes seemed to say. Say it.

“I don’t want to leave,” Louis said, never breaking eye contact with Harry. “I don’t want to leave – you.”

Harry didn’t smile, not exactly, but he looked – better. Happier, yes, but also more relaxed. Like he was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe – it would be okay.

“So what are you going to do?” Harry asked at last.

“ _Stay._ ” The word almost burst out of him. “I’m going to stay, as long as you want me to.”

“And if that’s a very long time?” Harry asked. His fingers tightened around Louis’. “Like, say, forever?”

The lump in his throat was happiness, now, and the tears that formed in his eyes. “Then I’ll stay forever,” he said. “I mean it, Harry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He could only half-see as Harry bent down to connect their lips, but he reached up, resting his hand on Harry’s cheek. The kiss was soft, not desperate like the ones outside but instead a gentle touch that said, I’m here, I love you.

“What about your family?” Harry asked when they pulled apart.

Louis leaned against his chest. “What about them?”

“Won’t you miss them?”

“Harry,” Louis said. “I choose you.” Harry didn’t look convinced. Louis pressed against his chest with both hands. “This is where I want to be,” he said. “Next to you. Forever, if you’ll let me.”

“I will.” The words were a whisper, barely more than a breath. Louis smiled.

“Maybe we’ll stay here,” he said. “Greece is gorgeous, after all. Or maybe we’ll go to England, and you can get a job photographing for a newspaper, or a fashion magazine. Or maybe we’ll go somewhere completely different, somewhere neither of us has ever been.” Louis spread his arms. “As long as I’m with you – that’s enough for me.”

As Harry’s mouth found his again, Louis knew that it was enough for him too.


End file.
